


Chisolm's 7

by VillaKulla



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Con Artists, Heist, Las Vegas, M/M, Ocean's Eleven AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:50:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 94,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9584300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: "It only took you five days to come see me about a job?""You sound surprised.""I am," Goodnight said with a grin. "I thought it would take you three."Sam Chisolm has just been released from prison and already has another job on the horizon. With seven men and millions to gain, Sam's team of con-men are set to take down one of the most corrupt casinos in Vegas...but only if they can keep from taking each other down first.(Ocean's Eleven AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on Ocean's Eleven aka only one of the best movies of all time ever. Also I'm genuinely surprised it's taken me this long to do a heist AU. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

 

 

_ 2012 _

_“Another two clicks to the left.”_

_“Got it. And?”_

_“Alright she’s holding steady. You can bring the drill back right…here.”_

_Sam Chisolm lifted the heavy drill, placing the cutting edge up against hardplate. Its tungsten-carbide edge could pierce through any safe on the market. But they didn’t need to pierce through any safe: just the one they were in front of now on the fourth floor of a deserted bank in the dead of the night._

_Sam calmly adjusted the drill until it was completely perpendicular to the door of the safe. It was far from the first bank he’d ever robbed. And while the details could vary from bank to bank, the routine stayed the same: breathe, focus, relax, and rob._

_He didn’t even need to question his partner when he adjusted the drill bit until it was dead in the center of the sharpie mark he’d drawn onto the safe’s door. He trusted the man’s eye implicitly. After all, he’d been robbing banks with Goodnight Robicheaux long enough._

_“Alright, you’re good to go. Now remember, this safe’s got the glass relocker only half an inch behind the plate. Crack it and we’re through.”_

_“Thanks for the pep talk,” Sam said dryly._

_“Anytime.” Sam didn’t need to see Goody’s face behind his black mask to know the man was smiling._

_“Count me off,” Sam said, flexing a gloved finger over the drill’s trigger._

_“Half an inch of drilling starts in three…two…one…go.”_

_Sam pulled the trigger and the drill revved powerfully to life, steel shavings flying as the drill cut through layers of metal. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Goody counting silently to himself off a stopwatch, one hand held up to tell Sam when it was time to stop. Over the sound of the drill they had to use nonverbal signals._

_Sam felt the drill steadily working its way through the thick, tightly-packed steel of the safe. Goody’s fingers spread apart as a warning to Sam and Sam prepared to kill power._

_Then Goody’s hand came closing into a fist and Sam immediately released the trigger. After the screaming of the drill the vault felt deathly silent as the last sounds of splintering metal faded away._

_“Okay,” Goody finally said quietly, reaching for the safe’s dial again. “Two clicks back.”_

_He carefully turned the knob, one click, then one more, and then there was a thunk and the unmistakable sound of tumblers falling into place._

_Goody turned and raised his eyebrows at Sam._

_“Care to do the honours?”_

_Sam straightened up and stepped in front of the safe. He lifted his black mask up to his forehead and felt Goody do the same beside him. And then he swung the door open._

_“The fox is in the henhouse,” Goody said with a laugh in his voice as he craned his neck to get a better look. “ What do we got, Sam? Gold? Diamonds?”_

_“Even better,” Sam said, reaching inside and pulling out a sheaf of bills. “Bank bonds!” he said with an ironic grin, tossing the stack over to Goody. “The ones we were planning on the entire time!”_

_“The plan has a distinct lack of romance but I’ll take it,” Goody said with a grin as he flipped through the papers before dropping them into a black duffel bag._

_Sam shook his head as he continued to pull the bearer bonds out of the safe and handing them off to Goody._

_“Here we are in the middle of the night, about to make off with almost five million dollars worth of bonds and you’re complaining that there’s no drama in your life?” Sam teased him._

_“I’m just saying, it would be nice to ride off into the sunset with something a little more exciting than money once in a while,” Goodnight said cheerily._

_“My fault your ass has seen too many cowboy movies?” Sam asked._

_“Seeing as how you watched half of them with me…yes.”_

_“Well,” Sam said, dissembling the drill. “I guess cowboy movies are kind of applicable here.”_

_“Why’s that?” Goody asked as he zipped his duffel bag shut._

_“We pretty much are Butch and Sundance at this point.” Sam spun the drill as though it were a pistol and jokingly blew on the muzzle._

_Goody snorted. “I take it I’m Sundance?”_

_“Well you sure as hell ain’t butch,” Sam said with a grin as he jostled Goody while standing up. Goody made a sound of protest as he picked up his own bag, and they headed towards the door._

_They made their way down the back stairwell, the security cameras disabled long ago._

_“Any plans for your cut of the take?” Sam asked, knowing that despite Goody’s focus on the job he was probably already dreaming of far off places._

_“Nothing concrete,” Goodnight said as they wound their way down the stairs. “But I see a yacht in my future.”_

_“A yacht,” Sam repeated amused. You had to hand it to Goodnight: the man knew how to enjoy money._

_“Well a tastefully small one of course,” Goody said with a grin. “Just so long as it’s seaworthy, secure, and with a deck where I can sit back with a book and go deep sea fishing. I don’t know about you, my friend, but I need a break.”_

_“And deep-sea fishing is gonna provide that?”_

_“Hopefully some fish too.”_

_Sam stopped short in his tracks as they hit the lobby._

_“Well pull in your reel, partner, because we’ve got a problem.”_

_Flashing lights were surrounding the lobby of the bank, illuminating Sam and Goody’s faces in red bursts as the lights came in through the windows. And a split second later there was the piercing wail of a siren._

_“Shit,” Sam cursed emphatically. “The safe must have had a silent alarm.”_

_“But that model shouldn’t have a –“_

_“Then they must have upgraded it,” Sam said, trying to count how many police cars were outside but it was impossible to tell the way their lights were whirling around. And over the siren he could barely hear himself think._

_“Come out with your hands over your head!” came a megaphone-amplified voice, cutting through the cacophony of the siren._

_“We’re trapped,” he heard Goody say in a queer voice._

_Sam turned around and saw Goody staring at him, the man’s face chalk white, lit up by bursts of red. He was looking at Sam but his eyes were hollow, years away._

_“We know you’re in there, Sam Chisolm! Repeat! Come out with your hands over your head!”_

_Sam looked out the windows and then back at Goody who was still in the shadows, still hidden by the doorframe. The feds outside probably hadn’t seen him yet. Goody’s lip was trembling as he stared through Sam, and Sam felt his heart sink but he suddenly felt resolved. He knew what he had to do._

_He reached out and took the duffel of bearer bonds from Goody, throwing them out into the middle of the lobby floor. He threw his own bag containing the drill next to it, and gripped Goody’s shoulders, shaking him._

_“Goody! One of us can still make it out the back exit if you leave now. You gotta get out of here.”_

_“They’re everywhere,” Goody whispered and Sam shook him hard._

_“Goody!” he barked and Goody blinked startled, and his eyes swam back into focus as he looked at Sam._

_“Sam?”_

_“Go on, get!”_

_“You crazy?” Goodnight said, shock and ache written plainly in his eyes as he came back to himself. “You’re just gonna surrender?”_

_“This is your final warning!” the voice thundered outside over the megaphone._

_“They already know I’m in here but they don’t know you’re with me,” Sam said. “Someone’s gotta take the fall and I’m not gonna let it be you.”_

_“We’re coming in on three!”_

_“I’m not leaving you,” Goody said in cracked voice._

_“Oh yes you are.” Sam gave him a small smile. “Who’s gonna water my plants?”_

_“One!”_

_“Sam,” Goody whispered._

_“Two!”_

_Sam gave Goody a quick, hard hug and then shoved him backwards into the stairwell._

_“Beat it, Sundance.”_

_“Three!”_

_There came the crash of a battering ram on the lobby doors and a team of SWAT burst through the door. Sam lifted his hands over his head and had just enough time to see Goody’s heel disappearing down the stairs before he was being slammed to the ground, hands were frisking him for a gun that wasn’t there, and a voice was reading:_

_“Sam Chisolm, you have the right to remain silent…”_

* 

_ 5 years later _

 

Sam Chisolm stepped out of the detention facility, squinting up at the sunlight. He was wearing the black clothes he’d been arrested in, wishing that that particular getup had included a coat at the time. But the early morning chill was invigorating as Sam steadily made his way down the path leading away from the jail. Sam wouldn’t have described himself as someone who was particularly ‘giddy’, but being on this side of the gates for the first time in five years? Sam felt a distinct sense of buoyancy, and once he passed the guards he couldn’t help the way his lips tugged up.

 

He slid into the waiting taxi and gave the driver the name of the nearest train station, and he looked thoughtfully out the window as the cab took off, the jail getting smaller and smaller behind him. The joint hadn’t been too bad when all was said and done, and Sam certainly hadn’t been idle either. For a resourceful and enterprising man like Sam, jail could sometimes feel like nothing more than an extended ‘time out’. It helped that this wasn’t Sam’s first go around either. He knew how to stay out of trouble in the joint and how to create it when necessary. Affable enough to be on the good side of most guards and inmates, and intimidating enough to be spared the bad side of the rest, Sam had fallen back into the jail rhythm easily enough. And with a reduced sentence for good behaviour the five years had gone by quickly enough.

 

But Sam was _bored_. Jail was still jail, and even if you could manage to find some degree of freedom in it, at the end of the day it was still someone else calling the shots. And that didn’t suit Sam at all.

 

Sam had plans. And while it was possible to set plans into motion on the inside, you could only get so far. The outside world had been waiting for Sam too long.

 

So Sam cranked down the window in the back seat of the cab, sat back against the creaky leather, and let the fresh air come rushing in as he drove off to meet it.

 

 

*

 

_“Fire!”_

 

A cacophony of bullets rang out, the gunshots echoing around the large room.

 

“Reload!”

 

Goodnight Robicheaux took off his earmuffs and looked down at the row of paper targets. He didn’t have to pull the targets in to know almost none of them had been hit. He looked back down the firing line.

 

“What the hell do you call that?”

 

No one met his eye, the row of tanned, toned bodies squirming uncomfortably under his sharp gaze.

 

“Anyone care to answer me? Or am I just talking to the air here?”

 

A sudden blast of a handgun interrupted him, shortly followed by a man swearing.

 

“Adrian!” Goodnight barked. “Was that you?”

 

“It was an accident Mister Angel, I was just –“

 

“First rule of gun accidents!” Goodnight interrupted loudly, looking at the rest of his class. “Go! Anyone!”

 

“All guns are loaded –“ one young man with spiky bleached hair began.

 

“Wait no, I remember,” a girl in a high ponytail said, raising a thin arm. “There are no ‘accidents’, only negligence,” she rattled off, finishing with a beaming tabloid-practiced grin.

 

“That’s right, Beckah. Go spit out your gum.” Goodnight looked back at the offending Adrian. The kid was slated to be on some upcoming cop show filmed on a studio lot meant to pass for New York. Goodnight didn’t bet on it lasting longer than the pilot.

 

“And congratulations, Adrian, you’ve earned your classmates another hour of safety and posture practice. No I don’t want to hear it!” he said at the chorus of groans that had arisen. “We’re taking this from the top. Magazines?”

 

“Out,” a chorus of voices chanted back in unison.

 

“Bolt?”

 

“Back.”

 

“Safety?”

 

“On.”

 

“Chamber flag?”

 

“In.”

 

“Guns?”

 

“Down.”

 

“Step _back_.”

 

Goodnight made his way down the line, working with each person individually on their stance, his gruff demeanor dropping considerably once he was teaching them one on one. Goodnight was supportive and encouraging in a way that forgave his totalitarian approach. Goodnight could be patient. But if there was one group of people who tried his patience like no one else? _Actors_.

 

“See, but in the scene my character is firing while coming out of a roll,” a young black man with a silver earring explained. “So I don’t see why I have to keep practicing standing up, you know?”

 

“My character’s kind of like a rebel in the police force, you know, like a real _maverick_ ,” a girl said in a sultry, throaty voice, looking earnestly at Goodnight. “So I just think she’d probably shoot with one hand, not two.”

 

“My movie is a World War Two period piece, and didn’t they have like…heavier rifles back then? And stuff? Like wood or something? Shouldn’t I have like…a weighted rifle? Or something?”

 

“My character doesn’t have a lot of experience with guns in the script, so I’m worried if I practice _too_ much it’ll ruin the authenticity of my performance.”

 

Goodnight rubbed his temples. Actors.

 

“Okay you know what,” he declared once he’d decided Young Hollywood was ready to try shooting again. “I think you’re all lacking the proper ‘character motivation’. Two hundred bucks to the first person to get within the inner three rings of the target.” He pulled out a couple bills from his pocket and smacked them dramatically onto the table in one of the booths, the young actors’ eyes lighting up. It was pocket change to the group of starlets and Goodnight knew that, but he also knew that the money wasn’t the appeal. No classroom could resist a competition.

 

“Line up.”

 

His students took turns firing, good naturedly catcalling each other as they lined up to shoot, eagerly watching each actor fire, groaning theatrically when they missed. Finally some young up-and-coming actor playing a gangster on a new drama fired off a decent shot, not a bullseye but still within the first three rings of the target like Goodnight had said. Goodnight presented the bills to him with a flourish while the rest of the students whooped and cheered.

 

“All _right_ ,” the young man said with a grin. “I’d like to thank the Academy. Oh hey, Mister Angel, think I’m ready to practice with the Uzi?”

 

“No chance,” Goodnight said with a faint smile. “You gotta walk before you can crawl.”

 

“Reverse that.”

 

Everyone’s heads spun around – including Goodnight’s - to see where the new voice had come from. A figure stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and Goodnight felt his chin drop and his heart lift at the same time.

 

“Oh really?” Goodnight asked, only just managing to keep his grin down. “And what exactly do you know about shooting, stranger?”

 

“Enough to know that any shot you make I can match,” Sam said mildly, but his eyes dancing at Goodnight.

 

Goodnight bit the inside of his cheek. “This sounds an awful lot like a wager.”

 

Sam’s lip twitched minutely and he turned to face Goodnight’s class. They were all staring uncertainly at this stranger in black who radiated a sense of calm, authority, and maybe just a slight hint of danger and trouble not far behind. _God,_ Goodnight had missed him.

 

“Well?” Sam said raising an eyebrow. “Who wants to bet fifty bucks I can kick your teacher’s ass?”

 

There was a pause. And then suddenly Goodnight’s class were all calling out eagerly and producing bills that they waved around in a flurry.

 

Goodnight rolled his eyes but stepped amiably up to the closest stall. He shucked off his suit jacket and pushed up his embroidered silk sleeves, deftly loading the gun in the stall. He looked across the whole target line, visualizing a line of sight towards each of the twelve targets. And without breaking a sweat he lifted the gun and squeezed out a series of shots that hit the row of targets dead center. Every one.

 

He set the gun down and looked archly back at Sam, his students whooping smugly, sure of keeping their fifties.

 

Sam picked up the gun Goody had left him. His shoulders dropped and he looked down at the targets, calmly but with a thrum of intensity. And then he was firing off twelve shots, slower than Goodnight had but no less controlled.

 

When the sound stopped reverberating the class leaned forward, peering down at the line of targets, which didn’t appear to have a single extra mark on them.

 

“What?” one girl asked. “He didn’t hit one!”

 

“No he hit twelve,” Goodnight said amused, looking back at the targets, his own bullet holes slightly widened. “His shots just went through all of my shots.”

 

The students squinted. And when they slowly started to realize that the stranger had indeed managed to hit each bullet hole Goody had left behind, their jaws dropped.

 

“Now I think your class owes me…” Sam did a quick headcount of how many young actors were in the room. “Six hundred dollars?”

 

“I’ll add it to their bill,” Goodnight said, now not bothering to hold back his grin. “Class dismissed.”

 

They waited while the students filed out, Sam’s eyes twinkling at Goody. And once the last student left they stepped forward into a warm hug, Goodnight laughing a little against the man’s chest, squeezing him hard.

 

“Fucking hell I missed you. How was prison? You get the cookies I sent?”

 

“I can’t believe you actually baked a lockpick into them.”

 

“Aw I knew they’d catch it. That was just to make you laugh.”

 

“I wasn’t laughing when they confiscated my cookies.”

 

“I’ll bake you a new batch.”

 

“What, next time I go to prison?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

They stepped back grinning and Sam reached down to pick up a stray flyer lying around the facilities.

 

“Alastair Angel’s Shooting Class for the Stars?” Sam read skeptically from the front cover which featured a glossy photo of Goodnight in a James Bond tux and holding up a pistol while winking at the camera. “The hell kind of name is ‘Alastair Angel’?”

 

“I don’t know,” Goodnight said. “What kind of a name is ‘Goodnight Robicheaux’?”

 

“Good point.”

 

“At any rate, it seems to attract clients,” Goodnight said. “You wouldn’t believe how many studios send their actors over anytime some coverboy needs to learn how to shoot a gun for a movie.”

 

“Don’t they have stuntmen for that?”

 

“Yeah but then how will the stuntmen preserve the ‘integrity of the character’?” Goodnight said in mock-horror, parroting a phrase he’d gotten more than once.

 

“And this is how you make your living now?” Sam asked. “Christ, you can’t last one day without me, can you?”

 

“Hey it pays better than bank bonds,” Goodnight joked, and then went quiet, feeling the familiar clench of guilt that he always felt over how their last job together had ended.

 

Sam must have seen it in Goodnight’s face because he set the flyer down.

 

“Goody…”

 

“I shouldn’t have run,” Goodnight said in rush, five years of self-blame pouring out of him at once. “You just let yourself get arrested, and I should have stayed with you. We’re partners, we did the same job, but you were the only one who went to jail for it, and…and I haven’t seen you in _five_ years, Sam.”

 

Goodnight swallowed and looked at the floor and Sam reached out and took his shoulder.

 

“I knew what I was doing,” Sam said gently but firmly. “It was my job, Goody, you understand? Mine. Security was my responsibility and I messed up. Someone's always gotta take the fall and it was right that it was me. You only ran ‘cause I told you to.”

 

“I know,” Goodnight said quietly. “But I still shouldn’t have done it.”

 

Sam smiled at him. “You’re a good second, Goody. But you can buy all my drinks for the next five years if it would make you feel better.”

 

“It would,” Goodnight said, relieved that Sam didn’t appear to be harboring any resentment. “Wanna start now? ‘Alastair Angel’ is officially off-duty.”

 

Sam laughed. “Sure. But do you mind if we have company? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

 

Goodnight looked at him curiously and Sam just raised his eyebrows. Goodnight felt that familiar kick of adrenaline before the curtain went up on a job.

 

“Oh no.”

 

“What?”

 

“Do not play coy with me, Sam Chisolm, I know that look.”

 

“What look?”

 

“The look that says you’ve got something up your sleeve. Christ man, you’ve been out of jail for what, five minutes?”

 

“Five days,” Sam said innocently.

 

“It only took you five days to come see me about a job?” Goodnight scoffed.

 

“You sound surprised.”

 

“I am,” Goodnight said, reaching for his jacket and giving him a grin. “I thought it would take you three.”

 

*

 

“Goody, I’d like you to meet Emma Cullen.”

 

“Enchanté,” Goodnight said automatically, shaking the hand of the woman Sam had just introduced him to, looking at her curiously. He wondered who she was and why she was meeting with a couple old criminals. She gazed back at him assertively enough, but she still didn’t strike Goodnight as part of the world he and Sam occupied.

 

They sat back down in the booth of the private room on the second floor of the bar, Emma pulling some folders out of a large leather briefcase, some hair falling into her face as she did. She’d pulled it back into a businesslike bun, but a few red strands had worked their way free, wisping in the opposite direction, impossible to tame.

 

“Emma works for RC Legal,” Sam explained as Emma set up her files on the smooth shining table.

 

“The law firm?” Goodnight asked.

 

“I’m a criminal lawyer,” Emma explained, moving their drinks to the side to spread out some folders.

 

Goodnight eyed her warily. “Is that so?” So that was why she didn’t seem particularly cowed by the company she was keeping but even so, why were he and Sam meeting with a criminal lawyer?

 

“I’ve been in touch with Emma for the past two years. She wrote to me with an interesting proposition,” Sam said. “And now that I’m out, seems like we can actually get the ball rolling on this. If you’re in.”

 

“Prison pen pals, huh?” Goodnight commented absently before looking keenly at Emma Cullen. “And what exactly is this ‘proposition’?”

 

Emma smiled slightly as she twirled a pen between her fingers, raising an eyebrow at Goodnight. “How much experience do you have with casinos, Mr. Robicheaux?”

 

Goodnight looked between her and Sam.

 

“I take it you don’t mean as a guest,” he said slowly.

 

“Sam’s already signed on with me as client, just as a formality,” Emma said easily. “Anything said here will be kept in the strictest confidence, but we can speak in hypotheticals if you prefer.”

 

“Well _hypothetically_ ,” Goodnight began. “I’d say I have more experience with banks. No one’s ever robbed a casino before.”

 

“Well that’s not entirely true,” Sam cut in. “Just no one’s ever gotten away with it.”

 

Goodnight rolled his eyes at him before turning back to Emma.

 

“Which casino are we ‘hypothetically’ talking about here?”

 

She took a sip of her drink. “The Gold Rush.”

 

Goodnight looked at Sam incredulously and then back to Emma.

 

“The Gold Rush? Bart Bogue’s casino?”

 

“One and the same.”

 

“You _know_ what Bogue is capable of?” Goodnight asked, lowering his voice as though the casino tycoon were standing there behind him. “The last guy they caught counting cards in there? Bogue didn’t just have his goons beat the shit out of him, they went after the father’s church and –“

 

“- burned it down?” Emma said. “Yeah I know. He was a client.”

 

Emma pushed a heavy looking binder towards Goodnight. “Bogue is a crook. And I don’t just mean in the normal Vegas mogul way. The man’s dirty through and through and his entire casino is rotten to the core.”

 

Emma flipped the binder open, running her finger down the columns inside. “A lot of it is the normal transgressions you expect in running a casino. Subliminal messages in the slot machines, games rigged for you to almost win so that you keep you gambling longer, pheromones pumped through the casino air that are meant to lower your inhibitions, make you bet more…”

 

She turned a page showing a number of graphs. “But while insidious, those are quite commonplace and hard to define in a court of law. Bogue’s real corruption is all financial. Tax fraud. Swindling investors. Dirty contracts. If it involves cheating both guests and employees, you can bet Bogue’s done it.”

 

“Emma used to study corporate law before specializing in criminal law,” Sam explained to Goodnight.

 

“Although you’d be amazed how much crossover there is,” Emma said dryly.

 

Goodnight read through the long list of numbers, and even without the steely conviction in this Emma’s voice, he could tell that they would check out.

 

“So why don’t you have him arrested?” Goodnight asked. “It looks like you’ve got enough in the way of evidence. Why not just take him to court?”

 

Emma looked at him dryly. “Think I haven’t tried? That man owns half the lawyers and judges in Nevada. He’s got them all in his pocket and they’re there to cut you off at every turn. But if you persist, keep trying to get at him, keep pushing…well, he’s got people who’ll push back.”

 

A muscle ticked in her jaw as she gave Goodnight a level look. “He’s not just a crooked businessman. He’s a thug as well. There’ve been plenty of instances of his people going after lawyers, trying to get them to drop a case. And when bribing them doesn’t work, well, intimidating them generally does. Threats or more.”

 

Goodnight raised his eyebrows. “You know lawyers he's tried to intimidate?”

 

“I was one, Mister Robicheaux,” she said simply before flipping to a different page. “And I have anonymous testimony from over a dozen more but who won’t testify against him in court because they’re scared of repercussions for them or their families. One lawyer was so badly beaten he was hospitalized and later died. And after that, everyone got spooked.”

 

Goodnight scanned the statements, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. “Well, you’ve certainly done your homework, Ms. Cullen.”

 

“Mrs. Cullen,” she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the binder. “My husband was the one who died.”

 

Goodnight’s mouth fell open, but before he could say anything at all her eyes were flicking back up to his and pinning him in his seat.

 

“I’ve tried to take him to court, Mr. Robicheaux, I’ve tried to go about this the normal way, but this is not a normal man we’re dealing with. He needs to be taken down and so does his entire casino. And if robbing him is the way to do it, so be it.”

 

“Even if it means that as a lawyer you’d be breaking the law yourself?” Goodnight asked her reasonably.

 

Emma fixed him with a long look. “The law I swore an oath to protect isn't the one I'm dealing with anymore. And if the law can’t honour itself anymore, then I’m not going to honour it either.”

 

Goodnight stole a glance at Sam.

 

“And you’re in?” he asked him. “This is the one you want to do?”

 

“It is,” Sam said.

 

Goodnight let out a breath. “Well what the hell. I’m in too.”

 

“Excellent,” Emma said, snapping back into a businesslike demeanor and gathering her things. “Glad to have you on board.” She extended her hand and Goodnight shook it, with a slightly shaky laugh.

 

“Sure. I’ve always wanted to see Vegas again before I die. And who knows, this way I might get to do both.”

 

“Why Mr. Robicheaux, are you nervous?” Emma asked, finally a glint of amusement in her eyes.

 

Goodnight looked up at her and she gave him an ironic smile.

 

“You should be.”

 

 

*

 

Sam tipped the room service waiter generously, wheeling the silver cart inside, not wanting the waiter to see the mass of papers and blueprints and other nefarious looking files they had spread out over the mattress of one of the suite’s large beds.

 

“Is that the food?” Goodnight asked, looking up from a folder that contained a copy of the Gold Rush’s floor plan. “ _Yes_ , bring it here, I’m starving.”

 

He took one of the plates from Sam and lifted the warming cover, breathing in the scent of steak frites with a satisfied sigh, but then he squinted at the plate.

 

“Damn, they forgot my mayo.”

 

“You and your French fries will survive,” Sam said dryly. “You’re not the one who’s been eating prison food for five years.”

 

But he felt a flicker of fond nostalgia. He’d almost forgotten that particular habit of Goody’s and it was that detail more than anything else that finally hammered home the fact that he was _out_.

 

Sam uncorked a bottle of wine and glanced over at Goodnight. The man had stopped inspecting his dinner and was looking at Sam curiously.

 

“How did you and that winsome warrior even manage to plan this much already while you were in prison anyways?”

 

“Coded letters mainly,” Sam said.

 

Goodnight had speared a piece of steak and was pointing it at Sam accusatorily. “You taught her our code didn’t you? Traitor.”

 

Sam grinned. “Didn’t think you’d mind if I included you on the job.”

 

“I don’t,” Goodnight said, popping the piece of steak into his mouth. “I’m just surprised she reached out to you in the first place.”

 

“So was I,” Sam said honestly, remembering the letter he’d received addressed to ‘Sam Chisolm, Nevada State Penitentiary’, its contents confident, concise, and clearly aware of who he was and any reputation he might have. “And truth be told she’s already done most of the legwork for this plan. But she knew she needed actual criminals if she ever wanted to get it off the ground.”

 

“Well you’re both nuts,” Goodnight said with feeling. “And you’re gonna need a crew as nuts as you are.”

 

“I know,” Sam said, handing him a glass of wine, his lips twitching. “Why do you think I came to see you first?”

 

Goodnight grinned and they clinked glasses there on the mattress, surrounded by food and files on the mattress, the way they always used to plan a job. It felt just like old times.

 

“So let’s talk players,” Goodnight said around a mouthful of food. “Just you and me isn’t going to cut it. Something like this? We’re gonna need five guys at least. First of all, who’s bankrolling this whole thing?”

 

“Jack Horne,” Sam said, finally digging into his own meal, unable to resist the sound of appreciation he made at the first mouthful. Food was so much better when it _hadn’t_ been reheated and slopped unceremoniously onto his tray in the cafeteria line.

 

“The former casino owner?” Goodnight said, screwing up his forehead. “Thought he found religion.”

 

“He did,” Sam said. “But his old casino was bought out from under him by Bogue. So he might still have some motivation.”

 

“Alright,” said Goodnight, swirling the wine around his glass. “What about IT? This one is gonna take a hell of a lot of tech work.”

 

“I was thinking Vasquez for tech,” Sam said, and Goodnight made a sound of recognition through his sip of wine. “You know him?”

 

“Met him a couple times,” Goodnight said, wiping a stray drop of wine from his lips. “But never worked with him. I know he’s supposed to be good though.”

 

“He is,” Sam said. Sam had worked with him once before. But even if Sam hadn’t already seen Vasquez’s skills for himself, the tech man’s reputation still preceded him.

 

“Drivers? Muscle? We’ll need two more guys for those.”

 

“Just one,” Sam said. “I got a recommendation on a new kid who can do both. Goes by the name of Red. Still a relatively new player but there’s already a waitlist a mile long just to get him on a job.”

 

“So how’re we gonna get him?”

 

“His village elder owes me a favour,” Sam said. “Pretty sure I can get an introduction. And pretty sure the potential money to be had in casino-robbing will do the rest of the convincing.”

 

Goodnight snorted. “If money go before, all ways do lie open. Alright. And what about demolitions? If this batshit plan is going to work we’ll need someone on explosives. Got anyone in mind?”

 

“I do,” Sam said slowly, casting a glance at Goody. “But I’m not entirely sure you’re gonna like it.”

 

Goodnight blinked at him, and then he groaned as understanding dawned.

 

“Oh god, not Faraday.”

 

“He’s the best, Goody.”

 

“He’s _reckless_ , Sam,” Goodnight said. “And…unpredictable.”

 

Goodnight was poking fixedly at his food but Sam could see the tightness of Goody’s mouth from where he sat. The man’s shoulders were tense in a way that went beyond simple annoyance, and Sam felt a stab of guilt. He knew about the job Goodnight had been on before he’d started working with Sam. It had gone south in a way that would have left anyone traumatized. He didn’t blame Goody for wanting to avoid jobs and people that were even the slightest bit erratic.

 

“It’s not gonna be like that, Goody,” Sam said gently. “We might have more people than we’re used to with us, but it’s still gonna be me calling the shots. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

 

“You haven’t yet,” Goodnight said quietly. And he looked up at Sam with a slight smile before stealing a French fry off of Sam’s plate. Sam just snorted and took one off of Goody’s.

 

“Anyways, he’s mellowed out. I promise,” Sam said. “And on top of demolitions he’s a card sharp too, and on a casino job specifically that could come in handy for us.”

 

“Alright alright, you’ve convinced me,” Goodnight said. “But for the life of me I will never understand your soft spot for that kid.”

 

Sam shrugged taking a sip of wine. He knew Faraday was young, hardheaded, difficult to corral, saw himself as separate from the rest of society, but honestly…he reminded Sam a lot of himself at that age.

 

“So what do you think in general?” Sam asked, wanting Goody's opinion. He swept a hand over the mass of papers that covered the mattress. “Of the plan?”

 

Goodnight looked over them, nodding almost to himself.

 

“It’s good,” he admitted. “But…”

 

He looked back up at Sam. “But this thing is too tied up in security. I just don’t see how we can do it without someone already on the inside.”

 

“Exactly,” Sam said, pleased Goody had reached that conclusion himself. “We’re gonna need to use an actual casino employee to bypass a lot of the security for us. And I’ve already got someone in mind.”

 

Sam handed him a folder and Goody flipped it open.

 

“Goody, I’d like you to meet our inside man.”

 

Goody looked up at Sam incredulously. “Seriously _?_ Am I reading this right?”

 

“You are.”

 

“This says Bogue’s 'head of security’.”

 

“It does.”

 

“What, you’re just going to somehow charm Bogue’s own head of _security_ into helping us?”

 

“I’m not,” Sam said with a grin. “You are.”

 

Goody huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Well in that case…”

 

Goodnight looked back down at the man’s file and thoughtfully straightened the photograph inside.

 

“Enchanté, Billy Rocks.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Billy Rocks stood at the back of the office, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him, barely taking in the arguing voices. He discreetly checked his watch. He’d give this would-be advisor one more minute to find the door, or Billy would do it for him. For the man’s own good.

 

“Mr. Bogue, if you’d only consider –“

 

“There’s nothing to consider. My casino is secure. Why should I waste its hard-earned money on installing your untested security system when my system is top of the line already?”

 

“My company has the utmost faith in the long-term benefits of our system. One simple installation could save you millions in preserving the integrity of both casino guests _and_ its employees, if you would just hear me out –“

 

“I’ve heard enough. Billy.”

 

Billy blinked and straightened up so minutely that no one would have been able to tell he’d been half checked out of that entire meeting. He left his position by the wall and walked over to the large ebony desk.

 

“Show this individual the door,” Bogue said, already turning back to the papers on his desk. “He’s wasted enough of my time.”

 

Billy looked down at the old man who was sitting in front of the desk and clutching a briefcase on his lap. The man looked between Bogue and Billy, head swiveling atop a checkered bowtie. Billy gestured towards the door and when the old man opened his mouth as though to make one more plea, Billy just narrowed his eyes at him.

 

The man shrunk back and collected his unopened folder from the desk’s varnished top, standing up meekly. Billy shadowed him outside.

 

Once they were out in the hallway of the casino’s top floor penthouse, the man turned to Billy. He looked clearly intimidated, wasn’t meeting Billy’s eyes, but he said in a wobbling voice:

 

“I didn’t mean to bother him or…or to push too hard. Honest. Just my company’s been on me to make a deal with these codes, and I also really need another commission, so that’s why I mighta been overselling it in there, but it wasn’t out of disrespect to the man, and if you could…I don’t know, pass it along that I didn’t mean no offense…”

 

The man trailed off and Billy looked at him emotionlessly.

 

“He’s forgotten you exist already.”

 

The man looked up at Billy with an uncertain expression, somehow looking even more scared.

 

“That’s a good thing,” Billy said pointedly but not dishonestly. He pushed the elevator button and the doors slid open and the man stepped inside. But before they could close again the man was suddenly thrusting the folder into Billy’s arms in some desperate last-ditch attempt, and was shrinking back into the elevator as the doors shut.

 

Billy looked at the metal doors in disbelief. He stared down at the folder the man had shoved at him, too surprised at the audacity to be annoyed. His lip twitched up. You had to at least give the guy credit for boldness. If anything it reminded Billy of what he’d been gearing up towards during that whole meeting, what he’d been preparing to say.

 

Billy put the folder on the very bottom of the files he was already carrying and went back into his boss’ office.

 

“Billy,” Bogue said, still not looking up from his desk. “How’d that man even get a meeting with me?”

 

“Mandatory insurance protocol,” Billy said, crossing the room’s Persian carpet. “We’re now required to hear about upgrades once a week.”

 

“Well if I am forced to have meetings with security advisors can you see to it that they’re shorter than that, hmm?” He’d phrased it as a question but it was clearly an order.

 

“Yes sir. Here are the new security codes for today.” Billy slid a black leather folder across the desk. It had the casino logo embossed in gold on the front. Bogue took it without bothering to open it.

 

“Anything else?”

 

“There was an incident in pit five today. A drunk tried to pocket some chips. My team dealt with him. He won’t be coming back.”

 

“Good. That’ll be all.”

 

Billy didn’t move.

 

“Billy?” Bogue finally looked up, fixing Billy with his eyes that would have been comically droopy if they weren’t so cold.

 

“It’s been almost ten years, Mr. Bogue,” said Billy just a shade quicker than he normally spoke, as though he wanted to say it before his nerve left him.

 

“Ten years?” Bogue asked, frowning at Billy. His voice was so neutral that Billy couldn’t tell if the man knew what he was referring to or not.

 

“Since I started working here,” Billy elaborated.

 

“Ah,” Bogue said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his hands across his chest, looking up at Billy interestedly. He was wearing a smile that Billy didn’t entirely like. It was the smile he wore when meeting with investors he’d already made up his mind to say no to, but who he just wanted to watch squirm, like mice dangling before a snake.

 

Billy already knew it was no use, that if he pushed the matter he’d just be embarrassing himself. But somewhere inside of him a tiny piece of stubborn pride prevailed and he thought _to hell with it_ and looked Bogue in the eye.

 

“You said if I did security for ten years without any problems then you’d think about dissolving my contract.”

 

“Why Billy, don’t you like working here?” Bogue asked in his cracked, reedy, oboe-like voice, his eyes glittering unpleasantly with amusement.

 

“I just wanted to check if that was still the case,” Billy mumbled.

 

Billy went silent and looked back down at the floor. Bogue let the silence draw itself out, savoring it.

 

“I did say I’d think about it, didn’t I?” Bogue finally mused thoughtfully. “Well tell you what, Billy. Fight Night is coming up, as you know. And this is our biggest one yet. Let’s see how you perform on the busiest night of the year and then we’ll talk contracts, hmm?”

 

Billy stayed quiet, utterly motionless apart from a tick in his jaw. And maybe Bogue saw it because his eyes narrowed and his voice suddenly lost its oily amiability.

 

“And if you’re unhappy with the situation, as you know there are always other places, other establishments who would be happy to have you as an extended guest. If you like I can put a call through –“

 

Bogue reached out and his hand hovered over the telephone on his desk and –

 

“No,” Billy said. “Thank you, sir. That’s all.”

 

“Get back to work, Billy,” Bogue said flatly, looking back down at his paperwork in a clear dismissal.

 

Work. As though Billy’s position could be called ‘working’. Billy looked down at the glossy veneer of the desk, suddenly wanting to reach for Bogue’s letter opener and carve up its shining surface. Those desks cost more than Billy’s annual salary.

 

If Billy even had a salary.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

And taking his cue, Billy turned on his heel and left the room.

 

 

*

 

_“No but really, Sam. How the hell am I supposed to convince a head of security to just turn around and rob his boss blind? If we’re gonna get an inside man, wouldn’t it make more sense to reel in a smaller fish? Even a nice medium sized sturgeon?”_

_They’d cracked into their second bottle of wine at this point and had moved to the floor of the hotel room, even more papers strewn across the carpet. Sam was leaning up against the bed and Goodnight was lying on his stomach, busy flipping through Billy Rocks' file again._

_“I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think, Goody.”_

_“Then why don’t you do it?”_

_“I’ve already got four guys to recruit. I’m sure you can handle just one,” Sam said._

_“Yeah, one who just so happens to be Bogue’s head of security!” Goody kept enunciating ‘security’ as though he thought it was something Sam had failed to realize while he was putting the file together._

_“I have reason to believe he’ll be interested.”_

_“Interested in robbing the casino he works for?” Goody asked. “He’s not some opportunistic pit dealer looking to make a few bucks on the sly, he’s the actual head of –“_

_“Goody,” Sam interrupted, raising his eyebrows. “Do you remember the last time someone tried to rob the Gold Rush?”_

_“Yeah, 2007. Why?”_

_Sam looked meaningfully at the file and Goody furrowed his brow as he looked back at it too. He glanced back up at Sam in confusion and Sam just nodded. Goody looked back the file. And then his jaw dropped._

_“Holy shit.”_

_“Yup.”_

_“Holy shit, that was *him*?”_

_“Yup.”_

_Goody looked between the file and Sam his mouth still hanging open. And then it curved up into a huge grin as he whooped out loud._

_“Holy shit!” Goody burst out again. “Our boy’s a crook!”_

_“Bingo,” Sam said, amused at Goody’s gleeful expression._

_“Well why the hell didn’t you lead with that, you old son of a gun?” Goody hooted, reaching out to smack Sam with the folder. Sam only just managed to rescue their wine glasses from being tipped over and he put one deliberately back in Goody’s hand._

_“Dramatic effect?” Sam asked innocently._

_Goody took a sip, shaking his head. “Damn. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Sam.”_

_“So you have heard of that one?” Sam asked, pouring himself some more wine._

_“What, you mean the time some lone daredevil decided to singlehandedly rob a casino, made it past all the Gold Rush security by himself, rappelled down an elevator shaft, tai-chied his way through a moving lazer grid, and managed to break into the actual goddamn vault before getting caught?”_

_Goodnight grinned and looked back at the photograph covering the file with a new kind of regard. “Everyone in the game has heard of that one. Guy got closer than anyone else to robbing a casino. I just didn’t know the crazy bastard’s name. Or what happened to him.”_

_“Not many people do,” Sam said. “But my sources –“_

_“Enchanting Emma.”_

_“My sources managed to find out that after Bogue caught him, apparently he was impressed with how Rocks managed to bypass so much of his system. Kept him on to work casino security.”_

_“What, he just went and offered the guy robbing him a job?” Goodnight asked incredulously. It sounded practically Dickensian and not at all in line with what Emma had told him about Bogue._

_“Well yes and no. Rocks works for him but my understanding is that Bogue has got him locked into some kind of a contract. Blackmail. If he didn’t become Bogue’s security lapdog and work for free, then Bogue would hand him over to the feds.”_

_Goodnight looked incredulously up at Sam whose mouth was a flat line of confirmation, and Goodnight felt his own jaw tighten._

_“That son of a bitch.”_

_“Mmm. My understanding is Rocks turned out to be so good at it that Bogue kept him on and Rocks managed to work his way up to head of security.”_

_“So Bogue trusts him?”_

_“Enough to let him run things it seems, but not enough to let him go. My guess is that it would have been embarrassing for Bogue if it were made public how close he got to being robbed. Probably keeps him there to hide him in plain sight. That and probably to maintain some sense of power.”_

_“Damn,” Goodnight said with feeling. He looked at the photograph again. It had been taken while the man was going into work, walking up the casino steps. But his head turned as though looking over his shoulder, jaw hard and eyes flat. Even in the grainy zoomed-in photograph it looked like he was glaring off anyone who might be following. Goodnight had thought he looked like a humourless, straight-laced sort when he’d first looked at the photo, but now he felt a slight bit of empathy for this Billy Rocks. If Goodnight had been forced to face daily reminders of his failures by working for someone who had him by the throat, Goodnight wouldn’t have kept much of a sense of humour either._

_“So what you’re saying is,” Goodnight began thoughtfully. “We approach the caged tiger, ask if we can borrow its claws, and in return we unlock its cage?”_

_“Well I don’t believe I said quite those words,” Sam said dryly. “But in a sense: yes. Convince him.”_

_“Were you thinking charm, disarm, or alarm?”_

_“I’ll leave that to your good judgment,” Sam said snorting. “But my guess is the chance of getting out of his contract will be reason enough to get him on board.”_

_“So if he agrees to help us then we might stand a chance at taking down the house…but if he helps us and the house still wins…” Goody trailed off questioningly and looked at Sam._

_Sam just shrugged and took a sip of his wine._

_“Then we’re all dead, ain’t we?”_

*

 

Billy stalked out of the office and down the long hallway, hitting the elevator button with more force than was strictly necessary. He kept his steely expression for the benefit of the bodyguards who flanked the elevator. But the moment he stepped inside and the doors slid smoothly closed he turned away from the door and bit his lip.

 

He glanced up and met his eyes in the elevator mirror and he took himself in from the ends of his four hundred dollar haircut to the tips of his Italian loafers, the very picture of a man who’d ‘made it’.

 

But the Billy Rocks who walked the hallways of the Gold Rush casino was a farce. An illusion. He might have been the most fearsome and competent head of security on the Las Vegas Strip, but nothing in his life actually _belonged_ to him. His suit might have been tailored to his exact measurements, but even that didn’t make it truly his. Everything he wore, everything he owned was casino property. Just like him.

Ten years ago Billy would have done _anything_ to stay out of jail. The offer to work for ten years instead of spending ten years in prison had seemed like too good to be true.

 

But as time went on, Billy had started to realize the mistake he’d made. He might have avoided prison but he’d really just swapped out one cage for another. This cage might have had more gilding, and Billy might have been wearing pinstripes instead of prison stripes. But the fact remained that Billy was a prisoner nonetheless.

 

He should have chosen jail. At least there’d have been some honesty in it.

 

But he hadn’t chosen jail. Bogue had offered him a deal, and in his desperation Billy had accepted it. Ten years of free work and then he could go. But Billy had been naïve back then. Bogue was probably never going to let him go and Billy now knew it for sure. This was who he was now, for better or worse.

 

He looked away from his reflection in the mirror and took a breath, turning back around. And as the elevator doors pinged open he stepped out into the casino lobby, smoothed back into the appearance of a man in control of himself and everyone else.

“Gerry, I need those files on my desk now,” Billy said walking past a security guard.

 

“Yes Mr. Rocks, as soon as I –“

 

“ _Now_ ,” Billy said, not even breaking his stride as he hit the casino floor. Casinos were designed to be confusing, meant to keep people there longer so that every time they tried to leave there would be some new poker table or slots machine to try. But Billy knew every square foot of the Gold Rush’s gaming floor and he cut through it automatically but purposefully, people instinctively clearing a way to let him through.

 

“Natalie, your pit won’t supervise itself,” he said to an employee who seemed to have spaced out for a half second, which was still half a second too long under Billy’s watch.

 

“Andrew, your line of site is blocked, find a better position,” he said to a floor supervisor who’d picked the most crowded corner from which to survey the room.

 

He hung a left at the blackjack tables entering a shining, clanging forest of slot machines, their handles cranking, their sirens on top whirring excitedly with every win, their coins pouring out into the massive cups the guests held.

 

One machine’s screen was dim and Billy strode over to see two workers beside the dead machine, scribbling onto clipboards. They seemed to sense someone looming over them and when they saw it was Billy they whirled around.

 

“Mr. Rocks,” one said before Billy could even open his mouth. “Slight problem with the visual display but we’ve identified the problem, the guest using it at the time has been compensated and is receiving complimentary drinks at the bar, the machine’s serial number and problem have been recorded, the paperwork has been submitted, and the slot technician is on his way.”

 

Billy stared at them and they looked uncertainly, waiting for his reaction. Billy just arched his eyebrow.

 

“Good,” Billy said with an air of ironic amusement, and they sagged in relief as he walked away.

 

Billy continued making the rounds, checking that everything was at maximum efficiency, and went to his office to work solidly for a few hours. By the time he emerged and went back onto the floor it was almost 2:00 a.m. which was when things started to quiet down a bit, at least on a weeknight. The floor was still busy enough but less frantic and overwhelming. Which was fortunate for Billy because he had a splitting headache. His shift was just about over and he’d go wind down at the bar before going up to his room, downing a couple aspirin, and blacking out until it was time for another day. But he had one more stop to make first.

 

Billy walked around the perimeter of the casino floor this time, sticking close to the wall. The crowds grew thinner the further away from the main action he got and by the time he hit the very back of the casino he was practically alone, just a few stragglers standing and looking at the wall-to-wall aquarium. Billy hung back until they left and then he stepped up to the glass, looking inside.

 

It wasn’t the biggest saltwater aquarium in Vegas, but it was the most costly. Some of the tropical fish had been bought for as much as half a million dollars. For a _fish_. The aquarium had marine biologists on-call to deal with any problems that might come up for everything from fin-rot to recommending new diets. Some of these fish ate better than Billy did for Christ’s sake.

 

Billy knew that Bogue was thinking of getting rid of the aquarium. It hadn’t been as popular or well-publicized as he’d hoped. The upkeep was more expensive than it was worth, and a saltwater aquarium didn’t _really_ fit into the casino’s mountain mining theme.

 

But Billy liked looking at the fish and their tropical patterns, purple spotted eels rippling through the tank, golden bassets flicking their tails as they winked through the water. But Billy’s favourite was nowhere in sight.

 

He walked along the glass until it became a wall. Billy swiped his keycard pass in the door and when the light blinked green he stepped inside the cool, shadowy room behind the aquarium. The door swung closed and the casino sounds were immediately shut out, the aquarium rippling blue behind Billy.

 

“Where is she?” Billy said by way of hello to the two men who monitored the aquarium. They were sitting around a foldout table playing a card game while the temperature readings and water purity instruments whirred quietly around them.

 

“In the rolling tank,” one said, jerking his head over to the corner of the room. “I’ll take two,” he said to his colleague who dealt him another two cards.

 

Billy walked over to the wheeled tank that stood against the wall. It was a tank meant for transporting marine life, several metres long, but still much too small for its current occupant: a blacktip reef shark.

 

Billy crouched down examining it. The shark was about four feet long and a smooth pale grey, its silvery hide only interrupted by flashes of black on its fins and high, angular tail. She swam from one end of the tank to the other, looking like a dagger as she cut through the water.

 

“What’s wrong with her?” Billy asked, looking back at the tank supervisors.

 

“The zebra shark had a bacterial infection,” one said while looking at his cards. “So we’re getting this one checked out too. We took her out of the big tank just to be on the safe side.”

 

“For how long?” Billy asked, looking back down into the tank where the shark swam past his knees.

 

“Dunno,” the other supervisor said. “We called Tracy at the aquatic centre, she said someone will come when they can.”

 

“She shouldn’t be in a small tank too long,” Billy said. “She needs room to manoeuver. Sharks of this size should be in a tank at least thirty feet in diameter. And she shouldn’t be away from the other fish for so long –“

 

“Hey. Rocks. Relax,” said one tank monitor. If both of them seemed considerably less intimidated by Billy than most of the other employees, it was probably because they were the only ones privy to this particular quirk of their otherwise fearsome security manager. “Someone’ll be here by afternoon. We’ll take care of it then.”

 

Billy straightened back up, smoothing down the wrinkles of his suit.

 

“See that you do,” he curtly, and he went to leave the dark quiet room and head back into the casino’s clamor. But before the door could close behind him fully, Billy just managed to catch the voices of the two tank supervisors saying:

 

“Why’s he so obsessed with that shark anyways?”

 

“Easy. Same teeth.”

 

 

*

 

Goodnight straightened his cufflinks as he sat in the booth of the bar, an almost-finished bourbon sitting in front of him. He’d been there a while by himself but he was comfortable and relaxed, in no rush. Billy Rocks had shown up to this particular casino bar the last three nights in a row, ever since Goodnight had started tailing him. Goodnight had no reason to suspect the man wouldn’t show tonight as well.

 

Goodnight looked interestedly around the bar that was simply titled ‘The Saloon’. It was one of the Gold Rush’s many frontier-style bars, all meant to convey a sense of a bygone era. Old grainy photographs covered the walls showing gold panners with their sleeves rolled up, prospectors bending down over wooden sluices lined by rocks, and one famous black-and-white one from the Klondike Gold Rush: a line of hikers in single file ascending the Chilkoot Trail, their dark tiny figures standing out stark black against the snowy mountain’s steep face. Goodnight had a feeling that if the photo had been in colour it still would have looked exactly the same.

 

Some of the casino’s other bars were livelier and rowdier, meant to appeal more to tourists. People could drink shots from hollowed-out gold nuggets and the bars served food in traditional gold pans. This bar was a little quieter and more out of the way, and Goodnight didn’t blame Billy Rocks for choosing it as his stop after work.

 

And as if Goodnight had conjured him, there he came through the swinging doors, unmistakable in the sleek dark suits he seemed to favour. His head was down as he sent off a quick text, and he stuck his phone back in his pocket crossly. He seemed every inch a man accustomed to running a tight business, and Goodnight had to remind himself that this wasn’t really a businessman at all.

 

Goodnight thought back to the 2007 robbery attempt, trying to equate it to the Billy that stood in front of the doors now. Everyone in the business had heard of that job. It was practically an urban legend for criminals, a tall tale that criminals told their protégés about, both as a cautionary tale and a standard of criminal to aspire to: one lone man breaking past casino defenses all by himself, slipping through security by employing a series of daredevil antics that would have been borderline _insane_ if they hadn’t been so effective. He’d made it all the way into the vault only to be stopped by something, no one knew what, and then apparently vanishing from the face of the earth.

 

But he hadn’t vanished at all, and had been here all along: working as the head of security in the very casino he’d once tried to rob. It seemed that what happened in Vegas really did stay in Vegas.

 

And as Billy Rocks looked up he flicked a dark strand of hair out of his eyes and Goodnight felt his stomach flip a little before he looked back into his glass. Because in his three days of observing the man it wasn’t like Goodnight had simply failed to observe that the Gold Rush’s head of security also happened to be _the_ most handsome man alive.

 

But Goodnight was on the job so he pushed the thought out of his head and looked back up as Billy approached the bar. The bartender was about to pull a glass down when Billy interrupted him:

 

“Actually make it a gin and tonic tonight, Stephen,” Goodnight heard the man’s voice say.

 

Stephen the bartender didn’t even bat an eye as he fixed up the drink, but Goodnight perked up interestedly. This was new. Normally Billy Rocks had the same thing every night: a glass of tonic water by itself with a wedge of lime. The bartender would pour it for him automatically once Billy sat down, and Billy would squeeze the lime over the ice. He’d then drink it slowly as though trying to prolong his post-work limbo for as long as possible.

 

When Goodnight had been tailing Billy and learning his habits, he’d also been looking for the best opening in which to approach him.

 

 _It’s going to take me a week to round everybody else up, so convince him by then,_ Sam had told him. _But also don’t rush it. We don’t want to spook the guy._

Goodnight had been planning on waiting another night, but this change in Rocks' routine felt like the best window he was going to get. So he straightened his tie, drank the last swallow of bourbon in his glass and loped easily up to the bar.

 

“Another?” he asked the bartender, holding up his glass and not even giving Billy a glance.

 

The bartender nodded. “Be right with you,” he said, placing a wedge of lime onto Billy’s glass, placing it in front of the man. The bartender took down a fresh glass for Goodnight who took a seat at the bar, leaving one stool between his and Billy’s.

 

Goodnight scanned the row of amber bottles behind the bar and didn’t need to look beside him to know that Billy was squeezing the lime into his drink.

 

The bartender placed a new glass of bourbon onto a coaster in front of Goodnight, and Goodnight thanked him, glancing over just in time to see Billy throw back his entire drink.

 

“One more,” Billy said in an emotionless voice, crossing his arms on the bar and almost seeming to sigh, and there was Goodnight’s opening.

 

“Yours as long as mine?” Goodnight asked him.

 

Billy glanced over dubiously. “Excuse me?”

 

“Your day,” Goodnight said easily, nodding towards the empty glass in front of Billy. “Was it as long as mine was?”

 

“Oh,” Billy said, giving Goodnight an odd look. But when the bartender set a new gin and tonic in front of him, Billy picked it up and looked back at Goodnight as he considered him.

 

“Longer,” Billy finally said, and there might have been just the faintest wry tilt to his mouth as he took a normal sip.

 

Goodnight was so startled he almost laughed. This had been the first sign of humour he’d seen in the man after three days. This might be easier than Goodnight had thought.

 

“Unlucky streak?” Goodnight asked. “Lose everything at the slot machines?”

 

“I don’t play slots,” Billy answered shortly but not dismissively, so Goodnight persisted.

 

“Hmm no you’re right,” Goodnight said, shifting a little in his seat to observe Billy better. “Cut of that suit, shine of those shoes? A man like you would never play something so lacking in finesse as _slots_.”

 

Billy raised his eyebrows at Goodnight as if to say _oh really?_ Goodnight bit back a grin as he continued to appraise him.

 

“I think we can safely rule out all machine games or games of video poker. And somehow I don’t see you going for blood among the old ladies of Bingo.”

 

Billy’s mouth ticked up and Goodnight took another sip of bourbon, giving Billy a thoughtful look.

 

“Which leaves us with table games. Baccarat has a certain flair that seems appropriate, but you strike me as someone who prefers games that take a bit more skill.”

 

Billy shrugged and Goodnight kept guessing.

 

“Now Blackjack requires a touch more focus but I don’t picture you among its rowdy hordes. Part of me would dearly love to say Faro just for the sheer classic atmosphere you both inspire, but…” Goodnight’s eyes flicked up and down Billy’s streamlined and nearly monochromatic suit. “Too many bells and whistles. Which leaves us with poker.”

 

Billy glanced over, deliberately not confirming anything and Goodnight grinned.

 

“Ah but what kind of poker then? Five-O is too blunt and Chinese poker uses far too many cards. Follow the Queen is engaging but too precious. Actually…no stud games for you at all I think. Those involve putting one’s cards on the table much too early.”

 

Billy tilted his head at him and Goodnight gave him a piercing look.

 

“So what game is there for a man both classic and sharp and who plays his cards close to his chest?” Goodnight asked. He lifted his glass and paused.

 

“Five Card Draw.”

 

Billy’s lip twitched and Goodnight broke into a smile.

 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he said gleefully, taking a sip of bourbon. “You play Five Card Draw?”

 

Billy smiled a little too. “When pressed.”

 

“Well then thank you kindly for allowing me to press you,” Goodnight said gently, and he raised his glass at Billy and turned away to face the bar again, pulling out his phone and thumbing through his messages, clearly giving Billy his space again.

 

Goodnight could feel Billy watching him and he continued pretending to check his phone. When he put it back in his pocket Billy was still looking at him.

 

“What about you?” Billy asked, opening the conversation again. “Do you play poker?”

 

“I do,” Goodnight said beaming, turning back to him. “But I prefer Texas hold ‘em.”

 

And he did. Games where the players simply interacted with their own cards did have a certain kind of suspense. But Goodnight had always preferred the sense of community that came with everyone seeing the same cards gradually revealed in the middle of the table, everyone trying to compare it their own hand while also trying to guess the hands around the table. It required a certain degree of reading people and – as he had just demonstrated – Goodnight had always had a knack for that.

 

Billy nodded. “Is that where you’re from?”

 

“What, Texas? Naw, Louisiana. But I travel a lot for work. You?”

 

Billy took a sip of his gin and tonic. “I live here. But I was born in Busan.”

 

Goodnight hummed interestedly. “You know I’ve heard it said that if New York is the city that never sleeps, Korea is the country that never sleeps.”

 

Billy smiled slightly. “That’s true. Haven’t been back in a while though.”

 

His smile wavered and he took a sip of his drink with a line between his eyebrows. Goodnight just watched Billy drink and didn’t say anything until Billy turned back to him.

 

“I…” Billy stopped and glanced over his shoulder. And when he saw the bartender was occupied with someone else on the other end of the bar he turned back to Goody.

 

“I have a demanding job,” he admitted, taking the last sip of his drink.

 

Goodnight suddenly felt a fresh wave of disgust for Bogue. His eyes flicked over to the bartender too and he realized he probably wasn’t going to get much more out of Billy in these seats, so he tossed the rest of his drink back.

 

“Well these stools aren’t the thing for someone who’s had a long day,” Goodnight said standing up. He gestured loosely over to the booth he’d vacated earlier. “Care to join me?”

 

Billy stilled and he looked between the booth and Goodnight. Goodnight just gazed back affably enough and Billy relaxed a bit. It wasn’t that he seemed suspicious of Goodnight’s invitation…just genuinely surprised.

 

“Sure,” Billy said slowly, looking around the bar as though he were trying to figure out whether or not he was _allowed_. Goodnight signaled the bartender for another round before extending his arm. “After you,” he said, letting Billy lead the way.

 

They sat down and looked at each other and Goodnight smiled at him.

 

“I realize I never introduced myself properly. But you can call me Goody,” he said.

 

“Goody,” Billy repeated skeptically like he thought Goodnight was kidding. Goodnight’s smile widened.

 

“One takes one’s nicknames where they can.”

 

“I guess,” Billy said. “I’m Billy.”

 

At that moment the bartender set down their fresh drinks and Goodnight held his up.

 

“Well then, Billy,” he said. “Enchanté,”

 

Billy clinked his glass against Goodnight’s.

 

“Mannaseo bangapseubnida.”

 

“Bless you.”

 

Billy actually laughed, a short but genuine thing, and oh god he was somehow even more handsome when he was _actually_ smiling, a wide almost goofy smile that curved the hard lines of his face; softened them. Goodnight felt a sudden pang of regret that he was meeting Billy under false pretenses; that they couldn’t just be two ordinary people having a conversation in a bar. He’d have to bring up the job soon, he knew that, but…couldn’t he just pretend a moment longer?

 

“Don’t know Korean?” Billy was asking him as he took a sip of his drink, his mouth still slightly curved.

 

“It’s not as good as my Japanese I’m afraid,” Goodnight said.

 

“You speak Japanese?”

 

“None,” Goodnight said with a grin. “And I speak even less Korean.”

 

Billy snorted at him and Goodnight watched him take another sip of his drink. He seemed much more relaxed than Goodnight had seen him so far. When he’d been tailing Billy he’d barely been able to keep up with the way the man moved through the casino like a shark, always moving forward like he might die if he didn’t, the crowds of people around him all parting before him like minnows, able to sense the predator in their midst.

 

And the Billy that Goodnight had been tailing hadn’t seemed just controlled: the man was all wary edges, bluntly direct, almost vibrating with alertness the more he was reined in.

 

Goodnight supposed ten years under someone else’s thumb would do that to a man: harden him, build up a shell, frustrated energy ricocheting around inside. Billy moved like he was on a retractable leash: all determination and purposeful stride until his leash ran out with a snap and he was jerking back in surprise.

 

Goodnight felt a new surge of disgust towards Bogue. Billy might have been a criminal, but it was a crime all its own to cage someone like that.

 

But here he was being perfectly personable with Goodnight, slightly aloof but downright charming about it. He was a world removed from the Billy Rocks who walked the gaming floor like he had something to prove, separate from all the people in it. He hadn’t once engaged any of them in something resembling actual conversation, but then again…no one had tried to talk to him either. And maybe that was all he really needed to drop a few – not all – but a few of his defenses: someone to actually acknowledge him, and not just when they wanted something from him.

 

Well Goodnight had acknowledged him and in return he’d gotten a Billy Rocks who was all circumspect charm in the face of someone who was finally addressing him without an agenda.

 

Quite frankly it made Goodnight feel like a heel.

 

But now Billy was looking over him with a new focus, His eyes lingered over where Goodnight's silk tie met the hollow of his throat, and the intensity of his gaze almost made Goodnight shiver. Then Billy's eyes flicked up to his like he'd just decided something.

 

“So what brings you to Vegas?” Billy asked, raising a dark eyebrow. “Business or pleasure?”

 

He took a lingering sip of his gin, the line of his throat rippling languidly, and he wiped a stray glistening drop from the corner of his lip.

 

And now Goodnight felt like a very aroused heel.

 

“Business,” Goodnight said as he regained faculty of his thoughts, wondering if that little display had been for his benefit, or if Billy really was this unknowingly seductive when relaxed.

 

“Really?” Billy asked, mouth curving slowly. “Business in the City of Sin?”

 

No, this was a man who knew damn well what he was doing.

 

“Business and sin aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” Goodnight said truthfully, albeit almost in a croak as Billy's eyes glittered in amusement.

 

“No,” Billy agreed mildly, rubbing his thumb against the condensation of his glass. “But business is hardly the most attractive thing Vegas has to offer.”

 

“No, I think I’m looking at it,” Goodnight said quietly, unthinkingly. And when Billy’s eyes flicked up to his, surprise melting into soft flickering heat, Goodnight almost felt his breath catch in his chest. Because if Goodnight liked what he was looking at, it certainly seemed like they were on the same page.

 

Goodnight. Was. A. Heel.

 

Goodnight hadn’t even known whether or not Billy was interested in men. The man’s file hadn’t confirmed it either way. But the way he was looking at Goodnight with unmistakable bedroom eyes was confirmation enough.

 

Goodnight really hadn’t expected to find the man so appealing. He’d been waiting with his shtick all ready, planning on chatting with Billy long enough to put Billy at ease which was when Goodnight was going to say who he really was. What he hadn’t been counting on was just how _much_ ease had been there between them. And instead of talking with Billy like a criminal recruiter, he’d been talking to him like, well, like himself. But the fact was that Goodnight had just genuinely enjoyed talking with Billy. And now he was enjoying flirting with the man as well. Too much.

 

Goodnight was reasonably certain that if he wanted to he could have laid on enough charm to pave a way right up to one of their rooms, and with Billy there across from him, heat practically emanating from him, the very thought made Goodnight’s toes curl.

 

But as much as Goodnight could be a scoundrel, he wasn’t a _complete_ bastard. He was hardly about to try and seduce someone under false pretenses. Although at the moment it currently felt like Billy was trying to seduce _him_ , and Goodnight really had to regain control of this situation. He’d forgotten himself too many times already, but hell if Billy didn’t seem to make him forget any care or thought he’d ever had in his life.

 

“Look, I…I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” Goodnight finally said.

 

“Oh?” Billy said.

 

“About my business,” Goodnight clarified, taking another sip of bourbon and trying to tamp down the way his pulse was thudding. At this point it was better to just rip off the bandaid.

 

“You haven’t told me anything about your business,” Billy said with a slight smile.

 

“Actually…” Goodnight said, raising his eyebrows. “I believe we’re in the same line of business, Billy Rocks.”

 

The shift happened minutely. Nothing about Billy’s posture changed and he didn’t even startle. But all of a sudden it was like he’d built up a wall of ice between them, his expression switching over from amiable to frosty with merely a shift of his jaw.

 

“I didn’t tell you my full name,” Billy said coolly.

 

“And I didn’t tell you mine,” Goodnight said without blinking, although he experienced a brief regret for the sudden loss of warmth between them.

 

Billy didn’t say anything else, just stared at Goodnight with his eyes hard, and Goodnight knew that Billy wasn’t going to speak first, that he was going to make Goodnight crawl.

 

So Goodnight pushed his empty glass to the side and leaned forward, fixing Billy with his gaze.

 

“The name’s Goodnight Robicheaux,” he said. “And I’m going to rob your boss.”

 

 

 

                        


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

Sam stood outside the house with Goody as they waited for everyone to arrive. Sam had borrowed the mansion from a former associate and the address was clean. The closer they got to the actual heist, the more they’d be running things out of the hotel itself. But for now they needed a home base, and this house and its sprawling grounds were out of the way enough to give them some space while they prepared.

 

Sam glanced over at Goodnight who was fiddling with his watch. The man looked twitchier than usual while they waited. Goody generally liked to psyche himself out before the curtain went up on a job, but he didn’t normally get stage fright _this_ far in advance.

 

“You alright there?” Sam asked him.

 

“What? Yeah. Fine.” Goodnight looked out down the wide driveway again. “Just wondering who’ll be first.”

 

“Goody,” Sam said mildly. “If you think he’s gonna blow the whistle on us, now would be a better time to tell me than later.”

 

“No I – I’m not worried about _that_ ,” Goodnight said, picking a cuticle. “He’s not the type. I just don’t know…”

 

He trailed off and Sam stood waiting until Goodnight’s head snapped back up and he nodded decisively.

 

“He’ll show,” he said confidently, almost like he was trying to convince himself instead of Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows but let Goody’s strange mood pass without comment. He trusted him, and if Goody said their inside man would show up, then Sam believed him. He wasn’t sure if Goodnight believed himself though.

 

A thumping baseline had Sam’s head turning from Goodnight to the winding drive.

 

“I don’t suppose your boy drives a red jeep, does he?” Sam asked.

 

“Definitely not,” Goodnight said with his eyebrows bunched. They smoothed out as the jeep came into view, taking a tight turn around the driveway’s elegant fountain before pulling in to park in front of the row of hedge markers. “But I can guess who does.”

 

The music cut out abruptly, the slam of the car door cutting through the silence left in its ringing absence. But the silence didn’t last long as a tall, solid figure cut across the driveway, his shining shoes crunching over the gravel. He stretched his arms out as wide as his grin and spun around to reveal the bright red and gold vest he was wearing.

 

“How do I look, Sam?”

 

“I take it the interview went well then?” Sam asked amused.

 

“You’re looking at the Gold Rush’s newest and best Blackjack dealer, gentlemen,” Joshua Faraday said as he hopped up onto the steps to greet them, shaking Sam’s hand then Goody’s. “Been a while, Robicheaux. Looking like someone’s idea of spiffy.”

 

“That’s a dealer’s vest?” Goodnight asked as he shook Faraday’s hand, raising an eyebrow. “You look like a valet.”

 

“And you look like you just came from Wimbledon,” Faraday said unperturbed.

 

“I live to serve, Faraday,” Goodnight said dryly, and Sam had just enough time to snort at the tennis pun he was pretty sure Goodnight was making when a black Rolls Royce came smoothly around the drive.

 

“This must be our wallet if I’m not mistaken,” Faraday said interestedly, eyeing the smooth lines of the vehicle as it pulled in to park. “Oh and lucky for us it’s a big wallet,” he said when the door opened and an impressively built figure stepped out. But the man had a curious elegance as he stepped lightly over to them in a well-tailored, flowing suit of blue.

 

“Sam,” he said in a pitchy musical voice, lighter than one would expect from a man of his stature. “Thank you again for thinking of me.”

 

“Thank _you_ ,” Sam said pointedly. Without Jack Horne’s willingness to finance, none of them would have been meeting here in the first place.

 

“Least I could do,” said Horne insistently. “We all go way back from the thing with the guy in the place.”

 

“You remember Goody,” Sam said, as they greeted each other. “And this is Joshua Faraday.”

 

“Faraday,” Horne said interestedly. “I believe I knew your father.”

 

“Yeah, who didn’t?” Faraday asked lightly, but there was an edge to his voice and a tightness around his mouth that Sam knew could be quick to appear.

 

“Faraday will be going undercover at the casino for us, Jack,” Sam interrupted before it could get awkward.

 

“Well done,” Horne said nodding seriously at Faraday. “Immersive work. A valet could have many uses.”

 

“Yeah I – wait, what? No, as a dealer!” Faraday said, tugging at his vest. “Why does everyone keep saying I look like a valet?”

 

“It’s the vest,” Goodnight chimed in, reaching for the gold cigarette case in his pocket. “It is rather flashy.”

 

“Hold up, _you_ of all people don’t get to tell me what’s too flashy,” Faraday said wheeling around and pointing accusatorily at Goodnight.

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Goody said with a grin as he lit up. “Was actually gonna ask if you could get me one too.”

 

Faraday rolled his eyes but he had a slight smile, and Sam laughed, any potential tension done away with.

 

They stayed outside the mansion chatting for a while since it was still pretty early for everyone to show. Goody seemed a little calmer now that he was smoking, and he offered the cigarettes around, Horne politely declining, Faraday accepting.

 

Eventually another car came into the drive. Goodnight had perked up a little at the sound of tires, but he deflated when he saw the car, evidently not the one he was hoping for. But he was the only one who looked disappointed, because Sam, Faraday and Horne were all letting out individual sounds of appreciation at the car that had just pulled in. Sleek, white, and with red rims that spun counterpoint to the tires. But if the car was unquestionably cool, it was nothing compared to the young man who stepped out, long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, muscles visible in the sleeveless shirt he wore. He was definitely the youngest of all of them by a wide margin, but his eyes when he took off his sunglasses were appraising them all calmly without a hint of self-consciousness.

 

“Red,” Sam said straightening up. “Come meet some people.”

 

Red walked over to them, shaking each of their hands as Sam introduced their driver to the rest of the group. He didn’t say anything but nodded when Sam said their names. However, when they reached Horne and Sam introduced the former casino mogul to him, Red seemed to still mid-shake and his jaw visibly tightened. Horne looked bemused, Sam remained poker-faced, and Goody and Faraday looked questioningly at each other. And then Faraday – to Sam’s astonishment – showed an impressive amount of tact.

 

“I’m hungry,” Faraday said, nudging Red familiarly as though he’d known him for much longer than the half minute he really did. “Let’s see if Chisolm was too cheap to stock the fridge. Leave the old people with their prunes.”

 

His stomach gave a well-timed rumble so maybe he really was hungry. But that was the thing Sam had noticed with him: with Faraday you just never knew.

 

Red followed, not even sparing anyone else a second glance. Whatever had happened there, Sam didn’t want them to discuss now. Instead he prompted Horne with an anecdote about the thing with the guy in the place, and within minutes they were swapping stories, Goody working on his second cigarette. When Horne eventually excused himself to go inside, Sam turned to Goody who was smoking absurdly fast, smoke puffing around him.

 

“You gonna have any of those left?” Sam asked, nodding towards the pocket where Goody kept his engraved case.

 

“You take up smoking in the joint?” Goodnight asked surprised, moving as though to take them out.

 

Sam stopped him before he could hand one over. “I just mean you still seem on edge.”

 

“I’m not on _edge_ ,” Goodnight scowled. “I know he’s coming. Just…everyone’s so early. And who would have called that? Bunch of certified cons and law-breakers can’t even have the decency to show up fashionably late? I mean I guess it’s a good sign for _us_ , at least in terms of organization and all, just –“

 

He broke off mid-rant as a motorcycle pulled up, parking alongside all the fancy cars. The man sitting astride it cut the motor and swung a long denim-clad leg easily over the classic bike. He sauntered over, pulling off a helmet and greeting Sam and Goody with a cheery smile.

 

“Hey, Sam,” he said, shifting a computer case to the other hand to shake with Sam. “And Goodnight! Long time no see, looks like we’re finally working together, sí?”

 

He smacked Goody amiably on the back, and Goodnight smiled as he rolled his cigarette between his fingers and greeted Vasquez, looking marginally more relaxed. Sam was relieved Vasquez had been free for tech. In a world of twitchy, high-strung IT characters, Vasquez’s breezy steadiness would be a welcome addition to a group that was shaping up to be too colourful for its own good.

 

“How’s the world of ones and zeros these days?” Goodnight asked him.

 

“It’s loco,” Vasquez said with a laugh, taking out a cigarette from behind his ear, Goody lighting it for him. And between puffs of smoke he launched into an anecdote about coding that was mostly lost on Sam and Goodnight but still entertaining as Vasquez sketched out the story with animated gestures.

 

“…but I guess that’s the current state of IT for you, huh?” Vasquez said, shaking his head and chuckling.

 

“ _You’re_ our IT guy?” Faraday said as he stepped back onto the steps, staring incredulously at Vasquez.

 

Vasquez just took another pull of his cigarette, looking Faraday over. “No need to look so surprised,” he said. “Unless that’s just your face.”

 

“You don’t look like an IT guy,” Faraday said, supremely unbothered as he looked Vasquez up and down. And privately Sam had to agree. The lean dark jeans, white T-shirt, and leather jacket, not to mention Vasquez’s faintly helmet-mussed curly hair didn’t exactly scream ‘tech nerd’, although Sam had never heard anyone get so enthused and indeed ‘nerdy’ about programming as Vasquez.

 

“No? And what do I look like then?” Vasquez asked, raising a dark eyebrow at him.

 

“Sorry,” Faraday said, lifting his hands in mock-surrender. “Thought you were the token Top Gun wannabe,” he said, in clear reference to the aviators dangling from the V of Vasquez’s T-shirt.

 

Vasquez’s lip twitched as he took a final drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the pavement, stubbing it out with his scuffed, lace-up boots.

 

“Here,” he said, tossing his motorcycle keys to Faraday, as he brushed past him up the steps.

 

“What’re these for?” Faraday said frowning as he caught them.

 

“Sorry,” Vasquez said innocently over his shoulder, heading into the house. “Thought you were the valet.”

 

Sam and Goodnight both burst out laughing and Faraday sputtered.

 

“I do _not_ look like a valet,” he said, even as he followed Vasquez into the house, protesting the entire way.

 

“Guess we might as well get started,” Sam said, turning to Goodnight. “Probably shouldn’t leave any of them alone for too long.”

 

“Like I told you, Sam,” Goody drawled. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

 

Sam snorted and they turned to head up the steps.

 

“I’ll start with intros first,” Sam mused out loud. “And then casino intel. That way he won’t have missed anything he doesn’t already know. When he decides to show that is.”

 

He glanced over at Goody who stubbed out his cigarette.

 

“Goody? Coming?”

 

Goody glanced back down the driveway once more and then seemed to sigh.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

_ One week ago _

__

“The name’s Goodnight Robicheaux,” he said. “And I’m going to rob your boss.”

 

Billy stared at the man sitting across from him in the saloon-style bar, his hands folded, blue eyes appraising Billy with a level gaze.

 

Billy did the only thing he could think of to do. Maintain a poker face that wouldn’t betray the way his mind was going a mile a minute.

 

“Excuse me?” he asked, relieved he’d kept his voice even. He was quickly counting how many people were in the bar, if any of them looked like bodyguards for this guy, the nearest exits, and what the current amount of money was in the casino safe. He thought all of this in one sip of gin. And so what if his throat had gone dry? It’s not like people appeared out of the blue to hint at his past and threaten to rob his boss every day.

 

“I think you heard me,” this man called Goodnight Robicheaux said calmly.

 

“I heard you,” Billy said shortly. “I’m just wondering your angle here.”

 

“My angle?” Goodnight said, eyebrows bunching in a way Billy might have actually found cute before the bombshell this man had dropped.

 

“You clearly know I work security,” Billy said flatly. “So what is this, a hold up? That guy in the booth over there pulls a gun on me and I hand over the codes? Sorry, they’re randomly generated and the recent ones are almost expired. Or maybe you’re more old school. Maybe you’ll reach for that dinner knife there and try to cut off my fingertips to use for fingerprint scanning, in which case I’d snap your neck before you even got close. Or maybe it’s a kidnapping. Maybe you’ll toss me in the trunk of a car in the alley out back and tell Bogue he’s not getting his security manager back until he pays up. Well tough luck, because he wouldn’t pay _shit_ for me.”

 

Billy spat out the last part more forcefully than he’d intended, but he was suddenly _so_ full of the rage that had consumed him for so much of the past ten years. The rage he’d needed to keep tamped down, turning it into tightly-wound energy in his job instead. It seemed like everybody was out to trap him in something, and hell if this man with the bright eyes and pretty words thought he could be one of them.

 

But those eyes were widening in what looked like apparent shock.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“What are _you_ talking about?”

 

“I don’t want to _kidnap_ you!” Goodnight exclaimed in a lower voice, leaning forward. “I want to work with you!”

 

“And why would you want to do that?” Billy shot back.

 

“Because it’s like I said,” Goodnight said. “We’re in the same line of business.”

 

Goodnight leaned back up and extended his hand. “Goodnight Robicheaux. Bank robber looking to expand, at your service.”

 

Billy resolutely ignored the hand, except to note that the fingers looked both strong and nimble and were covered in more nicks and cuts than one would expect from a man wearing a suit that elegant.

 

“That name supposed to mean something to me?” Billy said unimpressed.

 

“I guess it’s true you haven’t been in the game for a while,” the man mused, dropping his hand to the table where he drummed his fingers on its surface. “But I’m here on behalf of Sam Chisolm, if that name means anything to you.”

 

“You work with Sam Chisolm?” Billy said frowning in recognition. Then he looked sharply at Goodnight who had just sighed mournfully.

 

“What?” Billy asked, and then immediately regretted asking, only because this Goodnight was so clearly hoping he would.

 

“I just lost a bet with myself,” Goodnight said wryly. “I thought that there were still some criminals out there who _hadn’t_ heard of Sam, but thanks to you I’ve lost. Now I have to buy myself a drink.”

 

He lifted his hand and the bartender walked over, and before he could open his mouth Billy cut in.

 

“He’d like the bill, Stephen. He’s paying. For both of us.”

 

Goody dropped his hand as the bartender left. “Well that was just mean spirited,” he muttered, but he didn’t look at all bothered. In fact, it rather looked like he was trying not to laugh, and Billy was appalled at the flicker of amusement he felt. He promptly struck it down in favor of looking at Goodnight, his eyes hard.

 

“What do you mean, ‘criminals’?” Billy asked.

 

Goodnight stopped looking so cartoonishly put-out, and instead glanced up at Billy, and Billy found himself taken aback by the frankness in his gaze.

 

“I mean I know you’re the one who broke into the Gold Rush in 2007. I know you got closer than any man living or dead to robbing a casino. I know Bogue caught you and has got you locked into some kind of contract and that he’s blackmailing you. And I _really_ know that a man like that? He doesn’t deserve to be robbed. He deserves to be taken out back and shot.”

 

Goodnight took a breath and fixed Billy with an even gaze.

 

“But that’s not who we are,” he said simply. “So we’re gonna rob him instead. And we’ll do it with or without your help. But we’d rather do it with your help.”

 

“And what, you were the one who drew the short straw to come flirt it out of me?” Billy snapped before he could stop himself.

 

A flash of guilt appeared in Goodnight’s eyes and he looked at Billy regretfully.

 

“Not like that at all,” he said quietly. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

 

He certainly _sounded_ sorry. But Billy didn’t really know what to believe anymore, having seen first-hand what a smooth talker this guy really was. And Billy hadn’t meant to snap at him about their brief flirtation either, because…well because however charming the man had been before it was Billy who’d started the actual flirting and Billy knew it. And truthfully? He was embarrassed. He'd practically been throwing himself at the guy barely moments before, acting as bad as those honey traps the casino had stationed around every corner, there to make the guests feel lucky no matter how they'd played their cards.

 

Billy didn’t do that sort of thing often. Meet a guy in a bar, give him a few well-placed looks through his lashes, and start strategizing how to best get him upstairs and into bed. One single loss of focus in his job could mean making a mistake. He didn’t know if one mistake was enough for Bogue to send him to prison, but hell if he was going to find out the hard way.

 

That’s not to say that Billy had remained _completely_ celibate in his ten years of working for Bogue. He was human after all, and sometimes when the opportunity to blow off some steam presented itself he would take it. That opportunity was usually in the form of elite businessmen, the kind who were in Vegas for one night only and wouldn’t kick up a fuss when Billy had to abandon them the next day for work. It would be purely physical, just for the occasional release, and even then it never seemed worth the risk afterwards. So Billy had largely abstained. He didn’t enjoy much of anything these days anyways.

 

But when the man with the sharp suit and sharper eyes had slid next to him at the bar, he’d just been so entirely Billy’s type: clean-cut, polished, but somehow a little scruffy at the same time, in a way that made you want to just muss him up _more._ And how he'd just started talking to Billy out of the blue, being odd and amusing but not annoying, his words almost as honeyed as his appealing drawl. And the way he’d reacted when Billy had decided to swing the man’s charm back around on him: a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, eyes wide but wanting, lips bitten pink…yeah he was definitely something Billy could see himself enjoying. It was almost too good to be true.

 

Turns out it was. And Billy didn’t know why he was still surprised that he kept getting the rug yanked out from under him.

 

“Truth is…” Goodnight was saying. “We could use a guy like you. We could do it without you, but we don’t want to.”

 

“Because you need my security intel,” Billy countered, moving past his momentary embarrassment, slowly accepting that maybe Goodnight Robicheaux was the thief he claimed he was, and that this was actually happening to him right now.

 

“Because you’re a world-class thief,” Goodnight said simply. “At least until you got caught.”

 

Billy glared at him and Goody held up his hands and continued: “Hey, I’m not blaming you. Even the best thieves can get unlucky.”

 

Unlucky was right. That was as unlucky as Billy had ever been in anything. Served him right for thinking he could get away with it. But before he had time to bitterly remember his own idiocy, Goodnight was still rambling on:

 

“I mean that thing you did with the security cameras? I read the case files. That was brilliant! Who’d have thought you could actually manipulate the VCR itself? I mean back when those still existed. But much easier and straightforward than trying to alter the camera. And literally rappelling down the elevator shaft? Good lord, who does that?”

 

“I didn’t feel like taking the stairs,” Billy said automatically, and he forced himself not to be taken in by the delight in the man’s laugh.

 

But Goodnight’s eyes were lit up and looking almost gleeful, and it didn’t seem like he was trying to flatter Billy into his cause. He seemed genuinely admiring, and hell if it didn’t make Billy feel like a proper thief all over again and give him that flurry of adrenaline that came with the life.

 

“Look, we need you,” Goodnight admitted. “But you need us.”

 

“What do you have that I need?” Billy said slowly.

 

“We can get rid of your contract,” Goody said in a low voice. “If this all goes according to plan, we’re going to fleece Bogue so thoroughly that he won’t have a shred of credibility left.”

 

“Or money,” Billy said pointedly.

 

Goodnight just grinned. “Well you can’t write a cheque for credibility can you?”

 

Billy gazed down at the table, thinking it over. And he was crazy to be even thinking about this in the first place. He should have nipped this in the bud the second Goodnight had mentioned theft right there in the casino Billy worked for.

 

But…Billy didn’t really work for it, did he? It was slave labor of the glitteriest kind, but slave labor nonetheless.

 

Seeing his pause, Goodnight leaned forward.

 

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now. Our first meeting is in a week. But we just thought…well…we just thought you’d be interested. If anyone deserves a chance at taking down this scumbag it’s you.”

 

Billy’s eyes snapped up to meet Goodnight’s and his stomach flipped at the intensity in them.

 

“And what if I’ve changed?” Billy finally asked. “What if I’m not a part of that life anymore?”

 

Goodnight just gave him a straightforward look.

 

“Men like us don’t change, Billy,” he said quietly. “We either stay sharp or we get sloppy, but we don’t change.”

 

It was silent at their booth for a while. Goodnight went back to gazing at the Western-style décor around the bar, clearly giving Billy his space to think things over.

 

“And let’s just say I’m in,” Billy said, the mere words causing his heart to kick up its pace. “What happens afterwards?”

 

“That’s the beauty of it,” Goodnight said, turning back to him with a soft curve of his lips. “Whatever you want.”

 

Billy sat there, energy thrumming under his skin. Whatever he wanted…

 

If Billy were thinking about his job he’d have shut this down the moment it started. But from the very second Goodnight had sat next to him, Billy hadn’t thought about his job once, hadn’t felt like a security manager. He’d felt like himself. Whether it was because of the man or what he was proposing, Billy couldn’t say. He was still a little ticked off at the guy. But he was more pissed at Bogue, and he couldn’t deny that he was…intrigued.

 

“You’re meeting next week?” he asked slowly.

 

“Next Wednesday,” Goodnight said. “Preliminary planning.”

 

Billy nodded. “Where?”

 

Goodnight smiled wryly. “I’d love to tell you but you haven’t said you’re in yet.”

 

“Don’t trust me?” Billy asked looking at him.

 

“Didn’t say that,” Goodnight said easily. “But there are five other guys in on this thing, and I do have to keep their interests in mind.”

 

“You’re not worried I’m gonna turn you in? Between then and now?” Billy asked confused. This Goodnight Robicheaux had to be one of the oddest people he’d ever met, and Billy worked in Vegas for crying out loud.

 

“Nah,” Goodnight said immediately, tilting his head and giving Billy a considering look. “Not your style, Billy Rocks.”

 

“You don’t know me,” Billy said.

 

“No, I don’t,” Goodnight agreed. “But I was right about your card game. Pretty sure I’m right about this too.”

 

Billy stared at him and Goodnight stared back, swiveling his empty glass around, but other than that his eyes stayed on Billy. And Billy would be lying if he said it didn’t feel even more charged than when they were sitting across from each other as strangers.

 

“And besides,” Goodnight finally said after a long moment, some humour bleeding into his voice. “If you can’t figure out where the meet is happening by yourself, I’m not sure we even _want_ you on our team.”

 

He gave Billy a cheeky smile that was more of a challenge than anything else. Like he thought Billy might show up just for the sheer pleasure of wiping that smirk off his face. And the kicker was, that’s exactly what Billy was contemplating.

 

“You’re weird,” Billy said bluntly.

 

Goodnight’s smile just widened.

 

“And you’re gonna fit right in.”

 

Billy highly doubted that. When it came to working with others, Billy didn’t fit in anywhere. But that didn’t seem to bother Goodnight Robicheaux one bit.

 

“Didn’t say I was in,” Billy said contradictorily.

 

“But you’re interested,” Goodnight said. “And for now that’s all I can ask.”

 

Goodnight reached for a hat of all things. Somehow Billy knew it would suit him, rather than look ridiculous on him. And then he was standing up, slipping a hundred dollar bill beneath his empty glass to pay for their drinks.

 

“You’re leaving?” Billy asked, suddenly caught off guard.

 

“I think it’s best if I let you think things over,” Goodnight said smoothly. “But if you need to reach me, my card.”

 

He held out a smooth, elegant business card, which Billy reached for automatically. And when he took it their fingertips brushed, and they both pulled back as though burned.

 

Billy’s heart was hammering but he forced himself to swallow and ignore it, in favour of muttering: “Didn’t know they gave business cards to burglars.”

 

“Told you I’m here on business,” Goodnight said with a slight laugh. But then a thoughtful look crossed his face and he was looking at Billy with an expression Billy couldn’t read. “But look just so we’re clear…”

 

He bit his lip and fingered the brim of his hat uncertainly, but then stopped in favour of looking decisively at Billy.

 

“Coming to find you was business. Flirting with you was a pleasure.”

 

And with that he placed his hat on his head and was striding out of the bar leaving Billy with a business card and a racing heart, the saloon-style doors swinging shut behind him.

 

 

*

 

 

Goodnight strode down the main hall of the mansion Sam had acquired for their planning. It was a large, modern affair, curving white staircases that looked like they were floating out of the walls, sliding glass windows that dimmed at the touch of a button, modern art hanging on the walls, even a waterfall out back in the pool. But Goodnight wasn’t in a place to appreciate any of it.

 

He checked his phone again, but there were no other messages from Billy. Just the one he’d received the day before reading: **I’ll be there tomorrow. Will be late.**

 

Goodnight sighed and shoved the phone back in his pocket, resisting the urge to text the man. He could hear the group chatter floating out of the wide lounge. Sam was probably going to get started, and if Goody wanted a drink he should go get one now.

 

He made his way over to the sleek kitchen and saw someone already bending into the fridge, the door blocking them, only a pair of long legs visible. Goodnight cleared his throat.

 

“As long as you’re in there, you could make yourself useful and get me one too.”

 

Vasquez straightened up holding a bottle of beer and sent a smile at Goodnight. It was a lot more wolfish than the one he’d greeted Goodnight with outside.

 

“Since you ask so nicely you can have this one,” he said, handing it over to Goodnight and reaching back into the fridge for another.

 

“So when _was_ the last time I saw you?” Goodnight asked, walking over to the drawers to see if he could find a bottle opener.

 

“Last year at that gala right?”

 

“Oh right,” said Goodnight, who’d been posing as an oil tycoon at the time and hadn’t been able to chat. “And the time before that…”

 

“Three years ago, sí?” Vasquez asked. “Rosetti’s retirement party.”

 

“Still can’t believe he retired,” Goodnight said, opening a new drawer and coming up short. Vasquez walked over and took Goodnight’s beer from him with a smirk, twisting the top off with his hand.

 

“I was going to do that,” Goodnight protested insincerely.

 

“Sure you were,” Vasquez said, doing the same thing to his beer. “And then the time before _that_ …”

 

He trailed off and looked down at Goodnight, smirk growing, and Goodnight felt his cheeks flush despite himself.

 

“Easy, tiger. We’re not in Mexico and I don’t see any tequila around this time.”

 

Vasquez laughed, a low rumble that was as sinful as Goodnight had remembered, and Goodnight was reminded of another time he’d had Vasquez laughing over a drink. When Goodnight had told Sam he’d met Vasquez a few times he hadn’t been lying. He just hadn’t seen the need to mention that one of those times had involved some truly spectacular sex.

 

It hadn’t been long after Sam had gone to prison. Goodnight had been in Mexico in order to lie low, getting by with his passable Spanish. He’d been at one of those bars that mostly catered to the criminal underworld, where everyone in there was probably either planning a job or getting away from one. And to his great surprise he’d bumped into Vasquez who was there between aliases.

 

They’d already known each other vaguely from moving in a lot of the same circles, and had greeted each other easily. Goodnight had been so on edge and guilty during that period, and seeing a familiar face had been welcome. Especially when the face was as attractive as Vasquez’s. More than a few rounds of tequila had had them sitting closer and closer under the bar’s low lighting, legs brushing, sides pressed, until eventually Goodnight was gasping with Vasquez’s mouth on his neck and his palm rubbing excruciatingly over the front of Goodnight’s jeans. And then they were dragging each other to a more private room where they’d met in a crush of tequila-slick lips before falling onto a mattress beneath a slowly spinning ceiling fan, their moans and gasps lost to the humid night.

 

It had been a steamy encounter and certainly one of Goodnight’s more memorable one-night stands. They’d both needed to take off pretty quickly the next day, and Goodnight didn’t really do that kind of thing anymore, but it had still been an extremely pleasant evening. They’d bumped into each other over the years but had never reopened the doors to that particular event. It had been some much needed human contact and grounding for Goodnight, and he’d gotten the sense that it was the same deal for Vasquez who’d also been on the run at the time.

 

Goodnight liked the man. He was always friendly whenever they met, and anyone who’d ever worked a job with him had only good things to say about the tech man. And if they’d been missing whatever chemical it was that got people’s hearts genuinely pounding at the sight of each other, well that wasn’t anyone’s fault except chemistry’s.

 

“It’s fine though, right?” Vasquez asked him suddenly, in a lower and more inquiring and less teasing voice as they took their open drinks. “Working on the same job? I mean I’m fine with it if you are.”

 

Goodnight didn’t think Vasquez could start drama on a job if he tried, but his voice was sincere like he was really checking they were okay. Goodnight’s lips twitched.

 

“So long as you don’t give me any tequila I think we’ll be just fine.”

 

Vasquez laughed and tapped his bottle against Goodnight’s. “Amigo, you were pouring half those shots, don’t lie.”

 

“Only the responsible half,” Goodnight said, grin widening as he took a sip.

 

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Vasquez said with a snort. And then he stopped talking, ears cocked towards the den. He nudged Goodnight with his beer.

 

“Come on, I think our fearless leader wants to start.”

 

The walked companionably into the den where everyone had assembled on the low leather couches holding identical black folders. The room looked a lot more retro than the rest of the sleek house, full of plush armchairs on a 70s-style shag carpet. Sam stood beside a stone fireplace and Goodnight went over to stand by him.

 

“Everyone ready?” Sam asked. At the series of nods he clicked his handheld pointer and an image of the Gold Rush appeared behind him, courtesy of the projector hooked up to his laptop. “Alright, gentlemen. What I’m about to propose is both highly lucrative and highly dangerous. If that’s not your poison, speak now, no hard feelings.”

 

He looked around the room and was met with just nods again, a pokerfaced one from Red, an eager looking one from Faraday.

 

“Alright. I’d like you to meet Bart Bogue, owner of the Gold Rush casino,” Sam said, and a picture of the man appeared on the wall. “His casino takes in about five billion dollars annually at the end of the fiscal year. A large part of that is embezzled directly into his pocket.”

 

An animated graph split apart on the screen, showing which percentages of Bogue’s money went into the casino versus his various resources for tax fraud. Goodnight suppressed a smile. He’d missed Sam’s unnecessarily thought-out powerpoints almost as much as Sam himself.

 

“Now Bogue has gotten away with this mostly through tax fraud. If we’re gonna take him down, we’ve gotta bankrupt him and blow his credibility in one damn night.”

 

Faraday lifted his hand and Sam raised his eyebrow.

 

“Yes?” he asked, sounding for all the world like a schoolteacher who would clearly rather wait until the _end_ of the lesson to take questions.

 

“Why though?” Faraday pointed out. “Why do we have to expose him? I mean sure I’m down to rob him, but won’t his insurance just replace everything anyways? I thought we wanted to take down the casino, what does it matter if we take him down too?”

 

Irritating as he was, Faraday had always been a sharp one, and Goodnight cast a glance over at Sam to see what he’d say. Goodnight knew this robbery was on behalf of the criminal lawyer Emma Cullen, and that this job was at least partly a revenge mission. But maybe Sam was covering for Emma, and didn’t want to share her more personal reasons for revenge.

 

“Because it’s cleaner,” Sam said simply. “Bogue’s as ruthless as he is corrupt and would stop at nothing to get back at the men who robbed him. If we can bankrupt and expose him he’ll lose all credibility and connections and will be less likely to come after us afterwards.”

 

Faraday shrugged like the answer satisfied him, and Sam continued.

 

“Now I know most of you know each other already, but just in case I’ll introduce you and your jobs. This is Jack Horne, the former owner of the Providence Casino **.** He’s offered to finance us.”

 

Horne leaned forward on the couch giving everyone a friendly nod which was returned by everyone except for Red, whose face was fixed in a glare. Their driver did naturally seem a little stony, but Goodnight was sure there was more to it than that.

 

“This is Red who’ll be in charge of vehicles and general recon,” Sam said. “He has the benefit of never having been in the system before, and his face won’t raise any red flags.”

 

“ _Red_ flags,” snickered Faraday, looking at Red for approval. Red just stared at him unimpressed, but his face did relax minutely.

 

“And this is Joshua Faraday,” Sam said dryly. “Demolitions expert who will also be going undercover for us at the casino. And yes, Josh, as a Blackjack dealer, not a valet,” Sam said with a slight twitch to his lips.

 

Faraday pretended to smooth his vest and even Goody had to laugh.

 

“Sebastian Vasquez will be our eyes in the sky, in charge of all IT. He’s on tech and is going to hook us into Bogue’s system.”

 

Vasquez gave the room a wave, finishing with a cocky grin at Faraday, just in case Faraday was still unconvinced about his IT status.

 

“And running the cons and triggering the actual vault will be me and Goodnight,” Sam said, gesturing at Goodnight who dipped his head at everyone. “You guys need anything at all, you come see me or you come see Goody. Got that? Great. Any questions?”

 

“Yeah, who’s that for?” Faraday said, pointing at an extra folder that was still on the den’s large glass coffee table.

 

“That would be for our inside man who should be arriving…” Sam turned to look at Goodnight.

 

“Anytime,” Goodnight said with a confidence he didn’t feel, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s still at work at the casino.”

 

“What’s his work?” Vasquez asked, brow furrowed.

 

“I’m glad you asked,” Sam said mildly. “He’s Bogue’s head of security.”

 

Everyone except Goodnight turned to stare at Sam incredulously, even Red.

 

“What?” said Vasquez, practically laughing in his surprise.

 

“Unorthodox but interesting,” Horne hummed.

 

“You mean crazy,” Faraday snorted. But then his face smoothed out in understanding. “Oh wait…you mean we’re gonna set him up, right?”

 

“What?” Goodnight said more forcefully than he meant to. “No, no way.”

 

“Really? I mean why not?” Faraday said. “You mean to say we’re working with Bogue’s head of security and we’re not even gonna _consider_ using him as a fall guy?”

 

“Not happening,” Goodnight said, trying to suppress a scowl.

 

Faraday ignored him and looked at Sam. “You’re talking about making this cleaner. Isn’t it cleaner if we have someone already lined up to take the fall for us?”

 

He had a point, and some of the others were nodding, but Goodnight was just seeing red.

 

“You want us to have a fall guy, feel free to volunteer,” he said sharply to Faraday. “But we’re not setting him up.”

 

“And why’s that?” Faraday said, his voice dropping dangerously as he narrowed his eyes at Goodnight.

 

“Because he’s one of us,” came Sam’s voice authoritatively. “Honour among thieves. Anyone heard of the 2007 Gold Rush attempt?”

 

Everyone stared at him for a beat, and then they were launching into a series of “That was _him?”_ exclamations, similar to how Goodnight himself had reacted.

 

Sam quickly explained Billy’s background, finishing with: “Long story short, Bogue’s been blackmailing him for the past ten years. And now he’s gonna help us get back at him.”

 

“Well why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Faraday said snorting, dropping immediately back into amiability.

 

“He’s right, you really do have to lead with that one, Sam,” Goodnight said reasonably.

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, next time.”

 

“Anyways,” Sam said, turning back to the group. “Those are all your roles, but obviously since we’re a small crew there’s gonna be a fair amount of doubling up. We’re pulling a number of cons here so whatever needs doing, everyone pitches in. Sound good, or any more questions?”

 

People took turns bringing up things in their files, general security questions they’d each need to know for their job. Finally Vasquez who’d been flipping through his file looked up.

 

“I guess you can’t include dates on these things for plausible deniability,” he said, adjusting a pair of glasses which had made an appearance at some point. “But _when_ are we actually doing this? The actual job?”

 

“Fight Night,” came a new voice from the doorway.

 

Everyone’s heads turned to see Billy Rocks standing in the doorway of the den, leaning against the doorframe in one of his slim work suits.

 

Goodnight’s heart started pounding immediately. In the days since meeting Billy he’d wondered if the man’s appeal was maybe limited to the interior glitz and glamour of the casino setting. Goodnight had thought about whether he might have been merely imagining his initial attraction, wondering if it was all tied up in the excitement of planning a job.

 

But seeing Billy again now, out of context and in a new setting, Goodnight felt completely knocked off kilter. Billy stood there coolly appraising everyone, arms folded in front of his chest, not looking in the least bit cowed by their stares. But there was something almost painfully determined about it, reminding Goodnight of how much warmth could be drawn out of the man, and how quickly he could stamp it out before it burned him. And seeing Billy again now, Goodnight had to admit that he was embarrassingly gone on the man. He might not have felt infatuated with someone for a while, but there’s was no mistaking the feeling: like someone was playing a crunching piano chord in his stomach, the unexpected semitones both dissonant and enlivening enough to make his insides flutter.

 

Billy’s eyes flicked over the entire crew, but he didn’t even look at Goodnight. Goodnight probably deserved that, but hell if it didn’t make his heart sink a little even while it was still racing inside his chest.

 

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked him calmly, not even bothering to ask how Billy had gotten in past the rudimentary security they’d set up in the house.

 

Billy walked slowly into the room, everyone’s eyes on him. His face was neutral as he picked up the extra black folder on the table, flipping it open and giving it a cursory look.

 

“The casino is holding the final for the Ultimate Fighting Championships in three weeks,” Billy said, still looking at the file. “It’s Bogue’s biggest night of the year, he’ll be at his most distracted, and the place will be packed. By law our vault has to cover every chip played on the floor. And on Fight Night? The vault will have over a hundred and fifty million dollars in it.”

 

Billy looked up at everyone, and then at Sam. “If you’re planning on robbing the casino, that’s the night you want to do it. Just guessing that’s your plan anyways.”

 

Sam gave an approving nod. “That’s exactly the plan. Thanks for joining us, Billy, glad to have you on board.” He turned back to the room.

 

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Billy Rocks. Billy, you’ve already met Goody, and these are –”

 

“ – Red Harvest Nocona, Joshua Faraday, Sebastian Vasquez, Jack Horne,” Billy finished flatly. Everyone looked at him surprised and he just gave them all a look that suggested they were crazy if they thought he _hadn’t_ researched them first.

 

Billy then looked back at Sam, not exactly guiltily for suddenly having overstepped on Sam’s meeting, but wondering what he should do now that he’d established himself as someone who wasn’t going to be sidelined or fucked with, just because he happened to work for the other side.

 

“Billy, we were talking earlier about how to get face time with Bogue, someone he wouldn’t expect,” Sam said, casually integrating Billy into the planning. “Any ideas?”

 

“Security advisor,” Billy said, barely having to think about it. “The Nevada Gaming Commission requires him to meet advisors once a week. I could get one of you in. Who’s your best con artist?”

 

“When it comes to old-school grifting, that would probably be Goody,” Sam said. “He’s the best at fooling people.”

 

“You don’t say,” Billy said with an unreadable face. He finally turned to look at Goodnight properly. And when their eyes met Goodnight could swear his heart jumped.

 

“Alright, then I’m putting you two together on this,” Sam said, apparently not noticing the way Billy and Goodnight were still staring at each other.

 

Billy held Goodnight’s gaze a moment longer, his expression inscrutable but no less intense, before turning back to the group at large.

 

“I know you all know what you’re doing going after Bogue,” Billy said. “But I knew what I was doing too. And I still ended up trapped by him. And if he catches people robbing him again, you think he’s going to just keep everyone as a pet this time? ”

 

He looked hard at the group who was still staring at him.

 

“I didn’t have anyone to warn me about Bogue when I robbed him,” Billy said frankly. “I probably still would have done it. But I might have thought about it harder. So if you’re thinking of going after Bogue, you’d better know what you’re getting yourself into.”

 

There was a slow nod from the assorted crewmembers who were looking at Billy with a little more cautious interest than simply sizing him up like they’d been doing before.

 

“Well?” Sam asked them. “Our inside man is here. Anyone got any questions for Billy?”

 

There was a long silence, and then from the corner of the room, Red lifted his chin.

 

“Is it true in 2007 you scaled the outside wall without any ropes and got through the skylight with only a pocket knife?” he asked, the first words he’d spoken all evening.

 

Billy blinked, alarmed by the innocuous question. Everyone’s heads swung back to him eagerly.

 

“Yes?” Billy said, finally looking unsettled by the attention.

 

Red just nodded.

 

“Sweet.”

 

Everyone else seemed to be on the same page as Red, judging by their appreciative expressions. Vasquez even let out a low, impressed whistle.

 

Sam finally clicked on his last slide, drawing everyone’s attention again. All it showed was a blueprint of the casino safe.

 

“Gentlmen, we have three weeks to get from where we’re sitting now to inside those doors,” Sam said calmly. “That’s three weeks to perform what’s gonna be the biggest heist of the past century. If we pull it off that is.”

 

He turned to look at the men assembled in the room, letting his gaze rest on each of them in turn.

 

“With Billy here, that makes seven. Now I know we’re a small crew and these are some long odds,” he said. “But hey.”

 

He gave them a shrug and a wry grin.

 

“It’s the longest odds that get the biggest win.”

 

The group was starting to exchange some gleeful looks, a few chuckles, anticipation biting at them. And amidst the distraction, Goodnight and Billy’s eyes slid over to each other. They looked away quickly, but Goodnight still felt like he had to remember how to breathe.

 

“Alright, men. You all know your jobs,” Sam said. He pressed a button and the screen behind him was wiped out, the glare of the projector lighting up the seven men as though it were a spotlight.

 

“Let’s get to work.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

“And you’re online starting…now.”

 

Vasquez clicked his mouse and a plethora of files shot onto the screen. They contained bank records, news articles, school transcripts, a facebook profile, history of employment, and everything they needed to give Goodnight an online presence in the world…or rather, Goodnight’s character.

 

“Congratulations, Orson Calloway, you’re officially a real human,” Vasquez said.

 

Goodnight looked at the screen from where he was perched on Vasquez’s desk. He’d been busy memorizing the details of his fake persona from the file, but it was something seeing that file actually take life online. Looking at the way Vasquez had taken the physical pages of the file and turned them into an entire online identity was nothing short of wizardry. Besides a rudimentary knowledge in IT – necessary for any criminal in today’s day and age - tech work had never interested Goodnight very much. But seeing how efficiently Vasquez had created an online presence that stretched back years, Goodnight could at least appreciate the skill that went behind it.

 

“I feel like you 3D-printed me as we speak,” Goodnight said magnanimously.

 

“Yeah speaking of which, is that really what you’re wearing to meet Bogue?” Vasquez asked snorting as he took in Goodnight’s ensemble.

 

“ _I’m_ not,” Goodnight said affronted, adjusting his collar. “But Orson Calloway is.”

 

The cut and cloth might have been the best that money could buy, but even Goodnight could admit that the suit was pretty hideous. The embroidered rosettes on his shirt were ostentatiously loud, and Goodnight knew that the creams and whites of the suit were all wrong for him. But unfortunately Orson Calloway didn’t know any better. The others could tease Goodnight all they wanted for dressing up on his own time, but at least Goodnight knew he dressed _well_.

 

“Besides, I’m playing a rich, Texas businessman,” Goodnight said, defending his clothing choice. “It works for the character.”

 

“Your area, not mine,” Vasquez said. “And don’t you have that thing memorized by now?” he asked, nodding at the thick dossier sitting in Goodnight’s lap which Goodnight had been carrying around for the last couple days.

 

“Just running a last minute check,” Goodnight said, flipping back to the front page. And then something stood out. “Hold up,” he said, brow furrowed. “What’s my zodiac sign?”

 

“Your what?” Vasquez asked in disbelief.

 

“Well I have my fake birthday, but I don’t actually know the sign for it,” Goodnight said, rifling through the pages.

 

“Please don’t tell me you believe that garbage,” Vasquez said laughing.

 

“No because I actually have a certain degree of common sense, believe it or not,” Goodnight scoffed. “But everybody knows what theirs is whether they want to or not.”

 

“I guess,” Vasquez said with a shrug.

 

“Come on, look it up,” Goodnight said gesturing at the computer. “Orson Calloway’s birthday is July twenty-fifth, what does that make me?”

 

“I’m not gonna insult my computer by asking it that,” Vasquez said indignantly.

 

“Oh for god’s sake,” Goodnight said with a laugh.

 

“It’ll _judge_ me!”

 

Goodnight sighed and muttered something about divas. He reached for his character’s phone, only to remember it was downstairs in the large house they were working out of. He cast his gaze around for a spare laptop or something when he heard Vasquez say:

 

“Hey, Billy! Get in here.”

 

Goodnight’s heart leapt at the words, and he swallowed before slowly looking up to see Billy walking into the tech room. His eyes met Goodnight’s and Goodnight felt his own face light up. And then he remembered himself, and quickly looked away. They were lucky enough that Billy had agreed to be on their team, especially considering the tension there’d been the first time he and Goodnight had met. Goodnight might have still been harboring a pathetic crush on the man, but that didn’t mean that Billy felt the same way.

 

“If someone is born on July twenty-fifth, what would their zodiac sign be?” Vasquez asked him. Goodnight couldn’t resist looking back at Billy, and it was worth it to see the look of appalled bafflement on Billy’s face.

 

“I don’t know?” Billy said bewildered, and Goodnight’s lip ticked up because _god_ the man was cute when caught off guard.

 

“You know, I won’t lie to you, amigo, I’m pretty relieved you said that,” Vasquez said with a laugh.

 

“Billy has far too much common sense,” Goodnight mused. “We need to ask someone more colourful.”

 

Goodnight looked at the many screens surrounding Vasquez’s desk and his gaze fell on a live feed of the Gold Rush’s loading dock. Red and Horne were staking out the exteriors of the casino, transmitting their camera feeds back to Vasquez. Goodnight pressed a button on the desk’s microphone and leaned forward.

 

“Horne?”

 

There was a brief crackle of static and then Horne’s voice saying: “What can I do for you, Goodnight?”

 

“If someone is born on July twenty-fifth, what would their zodiac sign be?”

 

“Aw Lord Above, do you think I honestly believe in any of that –“

 

“Leo,” came Red’s voice interrupting him.

 

Goodnight burst out laughing and quickly covered the microphone, Vasquez doing the same. Even Billy looked amused.

 

Goodnight straightened up, uncovering the mic with a wide grin.

 

“My thanks to the Learn’d Astronomer,” he said. “Over and out.”

 

Goodnight switched off the mic, still chuckling.

 

“Always the quiet ones, huh?” he said with a smile at Billy, and Billy’s face softened in return, and for a moment it was like the rest of the room had disappeared. And then Billy cleared his throat and Goodnight blinked himself back to reality.

 

“We should leave soon,” Billy said a bit stiffly. “My car’s downstairs.”

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight said in what he hoped wasn’t a croak. “ I’ll be right down.”

 

Billy nodded and turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Goodnight stared at the empty space where he’d been, unable to resist letting out a sigh.

 

He was so lost in space he almost didn’t hear Vasquez humming something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Can you feel the love tonight’ while he typed away at one of his keyboards.

 

“Got something you’d like to share with the class?” Goodnight asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

Vasquez shrugged, adjusting one of his cameras with a joystick. He looked like he was wholeheartedly concentrating on his screens, but an enormous smirk was tugging against the scruff of his beard.

 

“You like him.”

 

“Oh what do you know?” Goodnight mumbled, collecting his folders and papers.

 

Vasquez shrugged with a bit of a devilish glint in his eye. “Maybe because I know what it looks like when you want to get someone into bed.”

 

He sent a cheeky smile up at Goodnight who scoffed and crumpled up a spare paper, throwing it at him.

 

“Yeah yeah, go play with your joystick.”

 

Vasquez laughed and went back to typing and Goodnight got ready to go. But as he was collecting his folders Vasquez glanced back at him.

 

“You know, for what it’s worth he likes you too.”

 

Goodnight blinked, startled. He opened and closed his mouth uselessly a couple times.

 

“He…he doesn’t…” Goodnight started to say, and then suddenly deflated.

 

“He doesn’t trust me,” Goodnight said quietly.

 

Vasquez shrugged.

 

“Didn’t say he trusted you,” Vasquez said. “But he does like you. It’s a start.”

 

Goodnight wasn’t so sure about that. When Billy had first shown up to their meeting he’d been almost painfully neutral towards Goodnight. They’d all been working together for about a week, and during that time Goodnight had tried to give him as much space as he could. Billy never initiated any conversation apart from business, and while it was disheartening, Goodnight could take a hint.

 

“Anyways, got the USB?” Vasquez asked him.

 

“Yup, thanks again,” Goodnight said, patting his suit pocket.

 

“Just make sure Bogue actually uses it,” Vasquez said. “Otherwise we’re gonna need a new way to get into his system.”

 

“Will do,” Goodnight said with a wave as he turned to go.

 

“Have fun with your boyfriend,” Vasquez called after him.

 

“He’s not – I mean I don’t – oh shut up,” Goodnight said, stalking out of the room.

 

Vasquez chuckled as he heard Goodnight walk down the stairs of the mansion. And then Vasquez turned back to his screens, clicking out of the files for ‘Orson Calloway’. And trust Goodnight Robicheaux to come up with a name like that. It was nice to finally actually work with the conman after years of random encounters. They’d always been friendly but after a week of working together it seemed like the guy had the potential to be an actual friend. Vasquez had always found him amusing, not to mention entertaining to tease. And if having slept with the man once didn’t give Vasquez the right to tease him, then Vasquez didn’t know what did.

 

And besides, Vasquez _was_ right about them. Goodnight and Billy, that is. The two of them were ridiculous: always looking at each other when the other one was looking away, and always with the same damn wistful expression. Vasquez wasn’t sure what the hold up was with them. He knew Goodnight was probably too much of a gentleman to ask his former fling for advice about his current infatuation. But that didn’t mean Vasquez couldn’t keep finding excuses for them to be in the same room together. Vasquez was a good wingman, silent or otherwise.

 

Grinning to himself he ran another sweep of the casino cameras, which he’d hacked into long ago, and then switched over to the view of the outside. Red was doing recon on the entire exterior of the casino. Right now the camera in his car was fixed on the back loading dock, which Red and Horne were currently monitoring. The picture looked slightly grainy and Vasquez leaned in and pressed the button of his microphone.

 

“Hey, Red? Can you adjust the dial on the camera two ticks to the right?”

 

Vasquez glanced up, and the screen immediately became sharp as a knife.

 

“Graçias, amigo.”

 

And then Vasquez leaned back in his chair, put on a pair of headphones, blasted some music, and got back to work.

 

 

*

 

 

Red sat back in his driver’s seat, lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. They’d been watching the back of the casino for a few hours now. He was keeping track of everything that happened around the casino’s perimeter: how many deliveries the casino received a day, who left which exits at what time, the number of cars that went in and out of the parking garage, how many trucks showed up to the loading dock, who the casino sent out to meet them…Red filed away every last detail, and wasn’t ignoring anything.

 

Except the man next to him.

 

Horne was humming something again and Red clenched his jaw, digging the binoculars so hard into his eyes they were bound to leave rings. He knew _why_ Sam had paired them up on stakeouts. Red might have been one of the best up-and-coming recon men working in the business, but he’d never worked a casino before. Horne however, used to actually _own_ a casino. So since he was more familiar with how casinos operated, Sam had sent him along on the stakeout too in case he needed to clarify anything they saw to Red.

 

Red could understand Sam’s logic. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed about it. He’d been successfully ignoring the man for most of the week, focusing only on his own work. But it was harder now when his work meant that Horne was sitting next to him in Red’s own car.

 

“…and that right there is what we’d call a ‘factory flag’,” Horne was rambling, pointing to a truck with casino markings that got flagged to go right into the loading dock without a security check. “All casinos have their own factory for making custom chips. Those chips get dyed and balanced, and are made unique to the casino’s specification. To discourage people from making fake chips and trying to cash ‘em in.”

 

Red didn’t comment. He already knew that. But Horne was still going on.

 

“…course it’s not only chips that go in and out, casinos get a lot of equipment custom built. Keeps things tight, you know, harder for people to mess with the system. Unless they’re professionals like us, huh?”

 

Horne laughed looking at Red for a reaction, but when he saw Red wasn’t offering anything back, his face fell a little and he coughed and faced forward again.

 

The minutes ticked on mostly silently, Horne only breaking it once more to say that the security were changing shifts. Red’s only response was to jot down the times. Other than that it was like a ghost might have spoken, and Horne sighed.

 

“Look, do we know each other or something?” he finally asked Red.

 

“Nope,” Red said, adjusting Vasquez’s camera on the dash of his car.

 

“Oh really? ‘Cause it sure seems like you know me,” Horne said in that cracked, pitchy voice of his.

 

Red shrugged, and Horne sighed again.

 

“Look you ain’t said more than a few words to me all week. Now I don’t have any problem with you, but I think it’s mighty clear you have one with me. Now that’s your right, but I believe I have a right to know what it is. How else am I supposed to fix it?”

 

Red was silent for a long time. He felt Horne’s gaze on him. But then it looked like Horne was giving up, and Horne sat back in his seat. Finally Red said:

 

“We’ve never met. But I do know about you.”

 

Horne turned his head to look at Red, and Red kept looking through the binoculars, adding:

 

“Jack Horne, former owner of the Providence casino, correct?”

 

“Yeah,” Horne said frowning. “Ain’t no secret. Bogue bought it out from under me ‘cause he was looking to expand his own. Connected the two to make his bigger. I was looking to get out of that business anyways and was willing to give him a fair deal. If he’d gone about it the fair way I might not be here now. But this was years ago, don’t see what it has to do with you.”

 

“Your casino doesn’t,” Red said shortly. “But its factory did.”

 

Horne stared at Red uncomprehendingly and Red clenched his jaw.

 

“Your casino’s factory was built next to a Comanche reserve. Your people promised it wouldn’t have any effect on the their territory. But when one of your machines broke down it released chemicals into the ground.”

 

Red finally turned to look at Horne straight. “It leached into the reserve’s main water supply. Poisoned everything. That’s three hundred people who had to up and leave _their_ land. Because of you.”

 

Horne looked dumbstruck, not at the story, but how it connected him to Red.

 

“Look…none of us could have predicted that that machinery would have broke down like that, and with those effects. Not even we saw that one coming –“

 

“So?” Red said. “You’re gonna build something that close to a reserve and people’s lives? You should have been doing _everything_ you could to make it safe as possible.”

 

Red turned back to the casino, looking back through his binoculars again. The silence in the car was almost palpable, and Red eventually opened his mouth again.

 

“And you know what the worst part is?” he said in a low voice. “When those three hundred people had to move their families and relocate? Your casino didn’t offer them shit. No compensation, no nothing. Just gave the excuse that –“

 

“- since the factory wasn’t built on native lands, they couldn’t prove that the chemicals in the water supply came from the factory,” Horne finished quietly.

 

“Bingo,” Red said humorlessly. “So you do remember. So what, just didn’t give a shit, is that it?”

 

Horne fidgeted uncomfortably.

 

“I know you weren’t one of the mechanics there,” Red continued. “I’m not an idiot. But it was still _your_ responsibility. You gave _your_ word to those families that nothing would happen to their land. And that makes it on you.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Horne said in a low, mournful voice.

 

Red glanced back at him, eyes hard. “You know, when Sam said your name I almost walked right off the job. But I didn’t. Because I’d already given Sam my word.”

 

Red narrowed his eyes. “You see, to some of us, that actually means something.”

 

“Look, I was a selfish man in those days,” Horne finally said. “I did a lot of things I wasn’t proud of. I thought I was bettering myself and my lot, but my judgment was clouded by ambition, which is no better than greed. And I was blinded by it. I can offer you my sincerest apologies now, but back then I didn’t know any better–“

 

“I really don’t care if you’re reformed now,” Red said tightly. “Doesn’t make what happened right.”

 

“No but I’m saying I –“ Horne waved his hand frustratedly. “We were within our rights to build that factory back then. And the law didn’t say anything about us needing to compensate anyone, so we didn’t. I can admit now that it lacked compassion, but it didn’t lack the law. And at the time we felt that we were within our rights not to do that.”

 

“Just ‘cause you were within your rights doesn’t mean it _was_ right,” Red said, the tone of his voice warning Horne not to offer any more excuses.

 

Horne scratched at his sleeve as he looked quietly over at Red.

 

“Guess there’s not really anything I can say to that, is there?”

 

“Now you’re getting the idea,” Red said shortly. And then he turned all his attention back to the job at hand, Horne sitting quietly beside him.

 

The rest of the stakeout passed in an uncomfortable silence.

 

 

*

 

 

In another car across town, things weren’t going much better.

 

Billy glanced at Goodnight who was staring out the window, briefcase in his lap, watching the traffic, the afternoon sun streaming in and cutting across his face. Billy was taking him to see Bogue, with Goodnight posing as a security investor in the scheme they’d cooked up. Goodnight had been chatty all week when the others were around, but he’d barely initiated any conversations with Billy. This was the first time they’d been alone together since they’d first met and had engaged in a conversation that still had Billy reeling. In that one conversation with Goodnight, Billy had a felt a mixture of interest, desire, betrayal, embarrassment, cautious intrigue, longing, adrenaline, and above all, a spark of life that Billy hadn’t felt for a long time. It had been the strangest conversation of Billy’s life, but he couldn’t deny it was memorable.

 

But here they were now, not talking at all, and Billy couldn’t take the tension that came with it.

 

Billy just wanted another chance to see whether the man had been full of shit when he’d seemed interested in Billy, or if he was the real deal. But how do you bring something like that up? “Hey, when you were flirting with me was it because you actually liked me? Or do you say that to all the guys you want to rob a casino with?” And because he hadn’t known what to say to Goodnight, he just hadn’t said anything.

 

Billy wasn’t always at ease with other people, even at the best of times. He hadn’t been sure of where he stood with Goodnight and so he hadn’t tried to initiate any discussions. Billy felt like he’d already shown his hand too much in that conversation, so he had been consciously dialing it back around Goodnight. But in his reservations, Billy was worried he might have come off as a bit cold towards him. Because while Billy had seen him joking around with just about everyone else on the crew, with Billy he’d been almost painfully polite. The stilted formality looked absurd on the man. And however uncomfortable their first conversation might have gotten, at least it had felt natural.

 

“You know what you’re going to say to Bogue?” Billy asked, the question surprising both of them.

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight said carefully, looking over at him from behind his gold-rimmed sunglasses.

 

Billy nodded, unsatisfied.

 

“Because he gets annoyed easily, and if he feels like you’re trying to play him he’s going to kick you out.”

 

“Thanks,” Goodnight said, almost tiredly.

 

Billy snorted and Goodnight turned towards him. And even though Goodnight was wearing sunglasses, Billy knew the man’s eyes were narrowing.

 

“What?”

 

“You ever played a security advisor before?” Billy said dryly. “There’s a bit more to it than a charming smile.”

 

“Meaning?” Goodnight asked, his tone controlled.

 

“Meaning you have to actually know what you’re talking about. The equipment, the systems, the set-up…security is complicated.”

 

Now it was Goodnight’s turn to snort.

 

“What?” Billy asked.

 

“Oh nothing,” Goodnight said. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine if all I have to say is ‘security is complicated’. That and my charming smile of course.”

 

He sounded a bit annoyed. Billy knew he’d misstepped but he wasn’t sure how. He ignored the thought and took the next exit, getting onto the service road that led towards the Vegas strip.

 

“You’re trying to sell Bogue a whole new surveillance system,” Billy said. “What are you going to say if he asks you whether it’s connected through an ocular mainliner or if it’s a purely digital transmission?”

 

Goodnight stared at him actually taking off his sunglasses, the Vegas sun streaming across his eyes which were fixed on Billy.

 

“I’ll tell him casino surveillance hasn’t used an ocular mainlining system since 2010 when the plugs were declared too easy to dislodge on account of how any extra pressure on the power cables caused them to vibrate and disconnect from the system. I’ll also tell him there’s no such thing as a purely digital transmission, since all feeds still have to be recorded and stored onto a hard file in a separate system in order to prevent tampering with past recordings.”

 

Goodnight looked hard at Billy.

 

“You know you might not like me very much, fine. You might not respect me, fair enough. But can you at least respect that I know how to do my goddamn job?”

 

He put his sunglasses back on and turned testily back towards the window, leaving Billy feeling jarred.

 

Goodnight thought Billy didn’t like him? Billy could admit he might have been acting a bit awkward around Goodnight but the thing was…

 

Billy liked him _too_ much. And it had been consuming him all week. He’d liked him in their first meeting, even though he’d been trying his best not to. Every time Billy had managed to get away from the casino he’d been spurred on by the thought of getting a chance to see Goodnight at the house where they were all working. The man was so carelessly friendly with everyone around him, and it was intoxicating to Billy. Billy ran a tight ship at work, and their performance was everything he thought he needed. But he envied the way Goodnight managed to joke around with everyone on their team, lending them a helping hand as needed, trading good-natured insults with them, and striding easily about every room with a lazy, unhurried confidence that could just as easily switch over to boyish excitement, clapping his hands together every time he found something funny, lines deepening beside his eyes and a crooked smile appearing full force.

 

Didn’t like him? Billy had barely been able to keep his eyes off of him. And as far as the man’s work was concerned…Billy knew the man knew what he was doing. Somehow he managed to look after everyone else, all the while turning out top-notch work himself. He would pore over books and files with a single-minded concentration, crinkles appearing in his forehead, tapping an elegant finger against the paragraphs, his eyes lighting up every time he came up with an idea, beaming at the entire room.

 

Billy hadn’t been trying to tell him his business at all. But much like when Billy was hard on his employees, it seemed as though Billy’s concerns had been misinterpreted again. Billy wasn’t consciously trying to be patronizing or condescending when he did that to the people he worked with: he was just trying to protect them from Bogue. He’d been trying to protect Goodnight too, but he realized it probably just sounded insulting.

 

“I wasn’t…” Billy started, suddenly feeling as awkward as he’d ever felt in his life. But when Goodnight angled his head back towards Billy, Billy swallowed and forced himself to say the rest.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Billy said quietly.

 

He could feel Goodnight’s eyes on him and it felt like every cell in Billy’s body was picking up on it. But Billy stared determinedly ahead, eyes on the road.

 

Eventually he sensed Goodnight turning back to look out the window but the space between them still seemed to be vibrating with unspoken tension. Billy didn’t know what to say.

 

So he didn’t say anything and they continued to drive through the Vegas streets, the silence in the car only punctuated by the occasional horn or fleetingly loud music from the traffic outside. But Billy could still feel Goodnight’s presence beside him, and it seemed to drown out everything else.

 

 

*

 

Faraday walked back into the house, absently punching in the code for the alarm behind him. He’d just finished a shift dealing cards at the casino and he shrugged off the vest he had to wear, rolling up his sleeves and popping open the top button on his shirt.

 

“Yo,” he called out to the house at large, his greeting ringing out emptily in the halls. He didn’t hear anything and shrugged, dropping his knapsack to the floor and wandering into the kitchen. He found some cans of coke and immediately drained one of them, the bubbles feeling good on his throat. The air conditioning in his jeep had conked out and he’d been roasting out under the hot sun while stuck in traffic. He made a mental note to ask Red if he’d mind taking a look at the car’s AC. Their recon-slash-vehicles guy came off as pretty intimidating, but it hadn’t stopped Faraday from keeping up a string of inane chatter around him. And while Red didn’t often reply, that also meant he had never told Faraday to shut his mouth. So in Faraday’s book that meant they got along pretty well.

 

Faraday grabbed another coke and popped it open, and was about to head over to his equipment room to get some work done. But a sound came from the second floor and his ears perked up. Was it someone…singing?

 

He walked upstairs, down the winding white halls with their shining floors and the sound grew louder. One of the doors was ajar and he pushed it open to see –

 

\- Vasquez, feet up on his desk, wearing headphones while reading something on a tablet and conducting himself aimlessly with a stylus.

 

“…oh, Maria Maria…she re _minds_ me of a westside story…”

 

A broad grin spread across Faraday’s face and he quickly fumbled for his phone, holding it up to record.

 

“…growing up in Spanish Harlem…”

 

Vasquez made a slashing motion with his stylus and made some guitar sounds with his mouth, tapping a few buttons on his tablet.

 

“…she’s living her life just like a movie star…”

 

Vasquez jabbed the stylus a couple times working up to the high part of the chorus, and unable to resist, Faraday took in a deep breath and bellowed:

 

“OH, Ma _ri_ a Mariaaaaaa…”

 

Vasquez practically fell off his chair and swore, grabbing a taser from under his desk with lightning speed, and whirled around pointing it at Faraday who was slumped against the wall with tears in his eyes, laughing himself hoarse.

 

“ _Ca_ brón,” Vasquez said vehemently, still gasping for breath.

 

Faraday was wheezing, unable to respond except for pointing uselessly at Vasquez and dissolving into laughter again.

 

“Pinche idiota,” Vasquez said with a roll of his eyes as he collected himself.

 

“I’ve never seen anyone move like that, man,” Faraday said wiping his eyes and laughing again. “Holy fuck you jumped like a foot.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” Vasquez said, having regained his composure impressively quickly.

 

“I know,” Faraday said grinning, getting back to his feet and wandering over to Vasquez’s desk. He picked up the headphones and held them to his ear just to confirm, smirking at the strains of guitar.

 

“Santana? Isn’t that a little cliché for someone like you?”

 

“Someone like me?” Vasquez asked mildly, pointedly raising his eyebrows at Faraday.

 

“…an IT guy?” Faraday finished somewhat feebly.

 

Vasquez snorted. “Nice save.”

 

Faraday picked up the taser, twirling it around.

 

“You really hoping to do some damage with this thing?”

 

“Works just fine,” said Vasquez with a shrug. “But if you don’t believe me just hold it to your neck and press the big button there. Can’t go wrong.”

 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Faraday said cheerily. Vasquez rolled his eyes again and returned to his screens. Faraday looked interestedly around the setup.

 

“So this is where an IT guy works,” Faraday mused. “Don’t you feel a little creepy with all those screens?”

 

“Don’t you feel a little creepy with that face?” Vasquez countered.

 

“Well that was just uncalled for,” Faraday said with mock hurt. But the corner of his mouth was tugging up. He and Vasquez had been sniping at each other ever since that first meet and it had quickly become a pattern of trying to one-up each other. Faraday couldn’t resist needling people. He knew sometimes he cut too deep, but he never meant it. Well not usually. He sometimes didn’t know when to pull back or what was too far. But so far Vasquez was the only one who seemed to take Faraday’s barbs in the spirit Faraday intended them in, and he had been meeting him at every turn.

 

It didn’t even seem personal. Within a week they’d taken to goading each other on sight, and it had quickly become what they _did_. It was as good a way to make the work go faster as any. But for all that they’d been trading taunts, this was the first time Faraday had seen Vasquez’s workplace.

 

“What does this do?” he asked, picking up an innocuous looking black box with a number of appealing dials.

 

“Don’t touch that,” Vasquez said, reaching out to slap Faraday’s hand away.

 

“Okay, Radioshack, relax,” Faraday said.

 

“I don’t look relaxed to you?” Vasquez said snorting, his feet back up on his desk as he switched between a couple surveillance videos on his screens.

 

“You didn’t when I came in,” Faraday said with a laugh, still glowing at finally properly getting one over the normally unflappable guy.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Vasquez spun back in his chair and went back to work, and Faraday felt a bit abandoned that Vasquez hadn’t put up more of a fight. He continued to poke around Vasquez’s workplace a little more, but Vasquez didn’t tell him off again. It was only when Faraday reached for an important looking plug that Vasquez glanced over.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Actually yeah,” Faraday said a bit sheepishly. “Do you have any other earpieces? Mine stopped working a couple hours ago.”

 

“Guero,” Vasquez said sighing. “I told you to stop scratching at them.” He reached into a drawer where he kept spares but came up short. “Think you took my last one. Do you still have the old earpiece?”

 

Faraday dropped the cordless earpiece in Vasquez’s hand. Vasquez grimaced comically despite Faraday protesting that he’d already wiped it off, he wasn’t an animal thank you very much.

 

Vasquez took hold of it with a pair of tweezers and held it up to the light. It was a nifty piece of equipment that they all wore to communicate with each other on the job. They were tiny and fit on the inside of the tragus, rendering them almost impossible to see.

 

“I’ll get you a new one but I can probably give this one a quick fix for now,” Vasquez said humming.

 

“Really?” Faraday asked skeptically. “You know how to fix that thing?”

 

“I should hope so,” Vasquez said.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Because I designed them,” Vasquez said, walking over to a larger worktable where he had some tools and gadgets spread out.

 

“Can’t have designed them very well if they keep breaking,” Faraday taunted reflexively following him.

 

“They work _fine_ ,” Vasquez said. “My fault you can’t stop picking at them? You don’t see everyone else asking for new ones every other day.”

 

He sat down, placing the earpiece under a magnifying glass and switching on a light. He put on a pair of glasses and reached for a thin rod and a tiny screwdriver that was so slight the end was almost invisible to the naked eye. He began to carefully take the earpiece apart with easy but focused motions.

 

“It’s just the transmitting wire,” Vasquez murmured, more to himself than Faraday. “Just gonna reconnect it again.”

 

Faraday watched curiously as Vasquez tinkered with the gadget, impressed with the precision though he’d never admit it.

 

“What happened to the music? Thought Carlos Santana over here always sings while he works?” Faraday teased.

 

Vasquez didn’t look up but his mouth had an amused tilt. “Traumatic memories. You may have turned me off Santana for life.”

 

“If that’s true then trust me, I did you a favour.”

 

“Well then what do demolitions experts listen to, hmm?” Vasquez asked peering intently down at the insides of the earpiece. “Hard rock? Heavy metal?”

 

“What?” Faraday said laughing.

 

“Or something equally loud and blunt,” Vasquez said. His eyes flicked up to Faraday’s from behind his glasses, and they were twinkling a little. “You guys in explosives are pretty predictable like that.”

 

“It’s not _all_ exploding things you know,” Faraday said with offense that was only half-feigned. “You still have to design the actual bombs and put them together, and one wrong move means blowing yourself up. You don’t think that takes any precision?”

 

“Compared to IT? Nope,” Vasquez said with a grin, as he reconnected a miniscule filament of wire. “You know what they say about people in demolitions…they’re all IT guys with no attention spans.”

 

“And people in IT are demolitions guys who couldn’t handle the heat,” Faraday shot back.

 

“Well it’s true that some of us are more of a handful than others,” Vasquez said with a laugh in his voice, snapping the earpiece closed again and sliding it across the table to Faraday who pocketed it. “And be _careful_ with it this time, entiendes?”

 

“Sí, señor,” Faraday said with a mock-salute. Vasquez shook his head and went back to his screens. He squinted at one of them and pulled it up to make it bigger. Faraday went over to stand behind him and saw live casino footage of Billy and Goodnight walking into the lobby.

 

“Oh shit, this the meet with Bogue?” Faraday asked. “I thought it was gonna be earlier.”

 

“Bogue pushed it back apparently,” Vasquez said.

 

“Oh sweet, I kinda wanted to watch this,” Faraday said honestly, watching an aerial view of Billy cutting across the floor with a suited-up Goody in tow who had one hand curled around a large briefcase, the other stuffed nonchalantly in his pocket, and who was looking curiously around the casino like someone who was seeing it for the first time.

 

Vasquez was eyeing Faraday dubiously and Faraday was suddenly struck by a thought.

 

“I mean…can we watch? Does Bogue even have cameras in his office?”

 

“Robicheaux has a camera in his lapel pin,” Vasquez said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting you watch here.”

 

“I’ll be quiet,” Faraday said immediately. Vasquez looked skeptical and Faraday added: “And I won’t touch anything.”

 

“Mmm, not good enough.”

 

“And I’ll delete the video I took of me scaring you,” Faraday said raising his eyebrows meaningfully.

 

“Deal,” Vasquez said, holding out his palm. Faraday shook it, intending to keep his word. He would delete the video. Just after he sent it to Sam.

 

“Is this when they’re gonna get into Bogue’s system for you?”

 

“His computer,” Vasquez said, pulling up a view that showed Billy from the back, walking towards an elevator. The screen was moving around a little, presumably because it was the camera on Goodnight’s lapel moving with the motions of his gait as he walked behind Billy.

 

“Billy’s already gotten me into most of the casino’s security,” Vasquez explained. “But no one has access to Bogue’s private computer, not even Billy. I gave Goodnight a USB and he needs to get Bogue to use it by the end of the meeting. It’s hiding a Trojan horse hacking program that’s connected to my system. If Goodnight can get Bogue to use that USB we’ll be able to see everything on his private laptop.”

 

“What’s on it?” Faraday asked.

 

“That’s what we’re gonna find out,” Vasquez said, unmuting the video on Goodnight’s camera, some background sounds from the casino filtering into the room.

 

Faraday pulled up a chair and was about to sit down when he glanced at Vasquez.

 

“Do you want popcorn? Saw some in the kitchen.”

 

“Popcorn?” Vasquez asked incredulously, turning to look at Faraday. He opened his mouth in disbelief, looking like he was about to argue the professionalism of eating popcorn while watching a con in process. But Faraday just looked innocently back at him, and Vasquez closed his mouth looking thoughtful.

 

“Actually yeah.”

 

 

*

 

“Mr. Bogue, this is Orson Calloway, from Calloway Security,” the Billy said, stepping back to allow Goodnight into the large office.

 

“Let’s make this fast, Billy, I’m already behind today,” Bogue said, barely looking at Goodnight. Billy was used to Bogue’s dismissive tone with him, but he wasn’t prepared for how embarrassed it made him feel with Goodnight there to see it.

 

But Goodnight just strode over to the wide desk, evidently not at all bothered by Bogue’s abruptness.

 

“I hear you, Mr. Bogue,” Goodnight said in a thicker drawl than his normal one. “I’ll be out of your hair in just a jiffy.”

 

He seemed to have become a different person entirely. With just the tilt of his head, the slope of his shoulders, and the length of his gait, Goodnight had somehow vanished into this smooth, unctuous creature named Orson Calloway. Billy couldn’t pinpoint how exactly. He just knew he’d gone into the elevator with Goodnight Robicheaux, and had come out with a different person altogether.

 

Bogue gestured absently to one of the chairs in front of his desk, not even looking up from the forms on his desk. Billy assumed his usual position by the wall for these meetings, and watched warily as Goodnight took a seat.

 

“I know you’re busy, Mr. Bogue, so I’ll get down to brass tacks,” Goodnight said, sitting back affably in his seat, crossing his legs, white hat balancing on his knee. “Yes I’m selling a surveillance upgrade on behalf of my agency and no it’s not much better than any other system you’ve already heard about. Yes it’s cheaper and offers sharper image quality and saves you a lot of time, money, and petty arguments with customers who claim the dealer was trying to cheat them out of their rightful fortune. But no it’s not really a dramatic upgrade from what you have already.”

 

Bogue looked up at Goodnight slowly, and Billy forced himself to not shake Goodnight and ask him what the hell he was doing. Goodnight just grinned a loose grin.

 

“I know your Nevada Gaming Commission insurance makes you sit through these meetings until you accept an upgrade. If you say yes, not much changes to your current system, but you do get an advance on your insurance and the NGC leaves you be for at least a year. And if you say no, then the sooner you can go back to those thrilling looking forms, and the sooner I can go to my room, crack open a beer, and get back to watching March Madness.”

 

Goodnight sat back comfortably in his chair, both Billy and Bogue looking at him in disbelief. And then Bogue was leaning his head back and letting out a shot of thin laughter.

 

“You serious?” Bogue asked, finally pushing the forms a little to the side.

 

“What? It’s Notre Dame versus Texas Southern later,” Goodnight said with a laugh. “I’ve got five hundred bucks riding on Southern.”

 

“You’re losing your money,” Bogue said, shaking his head. “Notre Dame has got that one in the bag.”

 

“Southern has Hillford,” Goodnight said reasonably. “Guy’s dynamite.”

 

“He’s just one guy,” Bogue said dismissively, waving Goodnight’s claim away. “I work in the betting industry for a living, and I know a bad bet when I see one.”

 

“Aw hell, you’re probably right,” Goodnight said, drawing out the ‘right’ as languorously as a lazy summer afternoon. “But gotta have some loyalty to the old Alma mater and all.”

 

“I got a nephew who goes to Southern,” Bogue said absently.

 

“No kidding?” Goodnight asked mildly in what looked like genuine surprise.

 

“Kid’s useless,” Bogue said. “Flunking out of every class.”

 

“Yeah well, I gotta admit I always preferred the social side of college too,” Goodnight mused, stroking his goatee which he’d let grow out a little to look older. “That and my sports team.”

 

“Basketball?” Bogue asked with a reedy laugh, the first time Billy had ever seen him make a personal inquiry of someone trying to sell him something before.

 

Goodnight laughed too. “I wish. Track and field. Never did have the height for basketball. But my buddy did, and you should have seen him on the court when he – ah but what am I doing. I said I’d just take up a minute of your time and here I am woolgathering. ”

 

Bogue blinked and reached with a smooth palm for the folder Goodnight offered him.

 

“Calloway Security, huh?” Bogue said slowly, flipping it open. “Why don’t I know about you?”

 

“We’re mostly privatized,” Goodnight replied smoothly. “It’s my own firm and normally I wouldn’t be out pounding the pavement like this. But the board of directors felt that if I sent one of our foot soldiers out to the second richest man in Vegas you’d chew ‘em up and spit ‘em back out on the sidewalk. Not to mention it would just be insulting to you if we sent some intern.”

 

Bogue’s lip curled up, pleased by the faint flattery. “This a family company? You take over from your dad or something?”

 

“My Daddy never did shit,” Goodnight said with a laugh. “My own company from the ground up, yes sir. I’ve done pretty well for myself, I can’t deny that. Although,” he said, gesturing to the opulence of Bogue’s office, “Sure seems like you made it to the better side of the desk.”

 

They both laughed and Billy suddenly recalled a conversation he’d overheard Goodnight having with Sam back at the house when Goodnight was putting together his persona.

 

“Why don’t you pretend to be that East Coast lawyer guy?” Sam had asked him while they were sitting at a table. “From when we hit that bank in Jersey. You do the whole midatlantic thing better than Cary Grant. Not to mention that guy dresses better than you.”

 

“He does _not_ ,” Goodnight had protested with a laugh. “Guy looks like a sailor. But nah, I thought about it but I’ve been looking into Bogue, and he’s entirely a self-made kind of man. Poor roots. Can’t imagine anyone he’d dislike more than an old money East Coast prep.”

 

Billy had been sitting across from them, and he remembered being surprised. Both at the psychology Goodnight had put into his plan, and also the fact that Bogue had grown up poor. Billy had always just assumed his boss came from a rich background.

 

But more than the feeling of surprise was the envy he’d felt at the camaraderie between Goodnight and Sam; that level of familiarity and ease something Billy could only imagine having with someone.

 

“So you get a loan to set up your own security firm and then just expanded it?” Bogue asked, flipping through the file.

 

“A loan would have made more sense than how I did it,” Goodnight drawled carelessly. “But you don’t want to hear that whole story…”

 

“You kidding, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of my next meeting all day,” Bogue said. And then he snapped his fingers. “Billy! Where are your manners? Get us some drinks.”

 

Billy ground his teeth. Never once had Bogue offered anyone drinks during one of these meetings, so naturally he’d try to make it look like Billy was the impolite one. But he squared his shoulders and walked over the stand of drinks in the corner, hearing Goodnight’s voice trailing behind him:

 

“Well you see, it all started with a poker chip…”

 

Billy fixed them drinks while half-listening to Goodnight spin some story about being a down on his luck business graduate who no one would hire out of school. Orson Calloway had found himself at a casino one night, drowning his sorrows and watching the spinning of a roulette wheel. And in one rash move he bet all his savings on one number –

 

“…and there I was thinking thirty-eight black! Thirty-eight black!”

 

\- and then he ended up with twenty grand just like that in a single bet. And he took the money he won and used it to start up his own security agency, and had been expanding it ever since.

 

“…my agency has outfitted a few casinos over the years, and I guess you could say I have a fondness for ‘em. Since it’s how I got my startup and all.”

 

Eventually Bogue was asking questions about the security patents that Calloway’s company had, and what kind of surveillance technology they had. And Goodnight answered every question easily but also a little detachedly, a guy for whom the details of his job were not a passion, but just a way to get ahead in the world using something he happened to be an expert in. And then once they had gotten the pretense of business out of the way, they were both back to talking about the March Madness lineups and their bracket predictions, with a lot more enthusiasm than they’d discussed security.

 

Billy hung back and watched the whole show feeling a mixture of emotions. At first he’d been resenting Goodnight a little for how quickly Bogue had taken to him. Billy had spent ten years being patronized and browbeaten by the guy. But somehow Goodnight had charmed the socks off him in the space of a single meeting.

 

But then Billy realized that it wasn’t Goodnight Robicheaux who Bogue had taken to at all: it was Orson Calloway. And watching the performance, Billy had to admit that Orson Calloway was a bit of a sleaze. He and Goodnight were both Southern smoothtalkers, but that was where the similarity began and ended. Orson Calloway was all braggadocious posturing whereas Goodnight was joking, self-aware poise. Orson Calloway was a thoughtless stream of shallow declarations, whereas Goodnight was the thoughtful pause between ideas. Orson Calloway was a smooth, jaded, cynic, while Goodnight somehow seemed to radiate a sense of innocence, despite his profession. And while Goodnight was genuinely charming, Orson Calloway was honestly kind of oily.

 

Billy knew that he liked Goodnight Robicheaux. But he also knew the reason he’d felt so tense around him all week was simply because he still felt…well he still felt a little played by the guy. He’d figured turning on the charm was just something Goodnight did to anyone he wanted to work with.

 

But here Billy was, right in the middle of watching Goodnight charm someone else. And he was forced to admit that this man sitting in Bogue’s office was a world apart from the Goodnight he’d seen in that first meeting. This persona he was putting on with Bogue was the kind of sleek, smooth operator that Billy was never taken in by as a rule.

 

However, the Goodnight Robicheaux who’d sat across from him in the bar – jokingly trying to guess Billy’s card game, listening to Billy complain about his job, curiously asking him questions, flushing endearingly when Billy was flirting with him, and then owning up to Billy in a mixture of guilt, ironic humor, and straightforward honest rapport – was someone who Billy was slowly beginning to realize actually was Goodnight Robicheaux, the real deal.

 

Which meant that the attraction they’d both been feeling in that meeting was the real deal as well.

 

Billy couldn’t help it: there in Bogue’s office he felt a slow smile coming on. Because standing there and watching Goodnight doing his job and doing it well, it was like all the glamour that Goodnight had been spinning was just melting away, taking Billy’s doubts with it.

“Well, Mr. Calloway –“

 

“Orson, please,” Goodnight said waving it away with a smooth flick of the wrist.

 

“Orson, I expect you’re waiting to hear if I’ll accept your offer, hmm?”

 

“Well,” Goodnight said with a shrug. “I can’t deny it would certainly be a coup to add your casino to our list of clients. But like I said, we’re doing pretty well for ourselves. It’s no skin off my back either way. If you want us to work for you it would be our privilege, but if not, well, I’ll just be grateful to have gotten chance to talk basketball with someone who actually knows what he’s talking about.”

 

Bogue’s lip ticked up. And then he was pushing his glass aside and leaning forward to look at Goodnight more seriously.

 

“I’ve made no secret of that fact that I don’t appreciate how the NGC is always sticking their noses in and trying to make us work with outside companies. They say they just want there to be more accountability. But it’s like they don’t trust us to know what’s best for our own place of work!” Bogue said disdainfully.

 

“I’ve got a board of directors, I hear you,” Goodnight said rolling his eyes.

 

“But if I am forced to work with outside surveillance, I must admit I’d rather do it with a likeminded individual,” Bogue said dropping his voice and narrowing his eyes meaningfully at Goodnight. “Someone who can possibly see to it that not _everything_ has to be on the surveillance records. Some higher institutions just can’t handle the reality of what it takes to run a business like this in Vegas. And some things are best left between a man and his casino. You follow?”

 

“Say no more,” Goodnight said easily but looking Bogue square in the eye. “I wouldn’t have stayed in anyone’s good books for so long if I couldn’t appreciate what needs to be left _off_ the books.”

 

Bogue looked at Goodnight for a long time. Finally he seemed to nod to himself.

 

“I can’t give you an answer right now. I’ll have to give your surveillance system a more thorough look before I pass it onto my security and technicians. Do you have some kind of outline for me?”

 

“Well I’ve got a digital walkthrough of our setup on this here USB,” Goodnight said pulling it out of his pocket and placing it on the desk. He bent down immediately to rummage in his briefcase. “But if you prefer something more analog I’ve got a hardcopy too, index at the front.”

 

He dumped an absolutely enormous binder onto the desk where it landed with a muffled thump. Bogue scoffed unpleasantly when he saw the size of it.

 

“You think I have time to read all that?”

 

He reached possessively for the USB, plugging it into his laptop and Goodnight shrugged, packing the thick binder back into his briefcase.

 

“Well, Orson, this has been a productive meeting,” Bogue said standing up and reaching out to shake Goodnight’s hand, something Billy had never seen him do in one of these meetings. “And you’ll be hearing from me within a couple hours I expect. Billy can show you the way out.”

 

“Been a pleasure, Mr. Bogue, been a pleasure,” Goodnight said, reaching for his hat. He followed Billy to the door, pausing when he passed a bronze statue, Grecian in style, of a man with a ram standing next to him. “Pretty piece of work there.”

 

“Aries, god of war,” Bogue said, sticking his chin up a little. “I find it inspiring to look at sometimes. Reminds me of my natural drive, if all that birth sign stuff is to be believed. How about you?”

 

“Leo,” Goodnight said, glancing over with a smile and lifting his hat at Bogue. “Adios.”

 

Goodnight followed Billy down the hall to the elevators, staying every inch the swaggering, detached businessman, even when they were in the elevator.

 

It wasn’t until they reached the private parking garage they’d come in by when he turned to Billy.

 

“I don’t suppose you know what the weather’ll be like tomorrow, do you?” he asked Billy with distant politeness.

 

“It’s gonna be clear,” Billy answered in their code to say that there were no cameras around.

 

And then just like that Goodnight dropped the façade of Orson Calloway, his previous posture unraveling and pooling by his feet, until all that was left was Goodnight who broke into laughter letting out a gleeful whoop.

 

“Holy _shit_ that guy is a scumbag! I was looking forward to taking him down before but now I can’t fucking _wait!”_

It startled a laugh out of Billy, partly from the adrenaline of having watched Goodnight’s con, and also because Goodnight’s enthusiasm was infectious. Goodnight reached for the pin on his lapel, turning it around to face himself, vamping comically for the miniscule camera inside.

 

“Hope you’ve all enjoyed the Goodnight ‘Robi-show’, folks, tickets for the next one are on sale as of now.” He turned the camera off and dropped it into his jacket pocket. And then he turned back to Billy with a wide grin and was saying:

 

“What a fucking _prick!_ ”

 

They both dissolved into laughter, and Billy said with an eagerness that was practically foreign to him:

 

“Oh my god, when you told him you wanted to get back to watching basketball? I’ve _never_ seen him look that surprised, I couldn’t believe his face.”

 

“ _His_ face?” Goodnight said with a grin. “You should have seen yours!”

 

They both burst out laughing again, the tension of the office bleeding out of them, and when Billy straightened back up it was to see Goodnight looking at him with a softer expression. They both had slight smiles on but then Goodnight’s seemed to falter as he scuffed his character’s cowboy boots against the ground, clearly unsure of where he stood with Billy.

 

Billy looked at the ground. He knew he had to say something, he just wasn’t really sure how to put it. Because Goodnight still probably thought Billy didn’t like him, and that just wasn’t the case at all.

 

“When you,” he started uncertainly. He glanced up at Goodnight who was staring at him, waiting for his next words.

 

“You were different in there,” Billy finally managed to say. “From when I met you. It’s not that I don’t…”

 

Billy bit his lip, no idea how to say what he wanted to say.

 

“I wasn’t trying to avoid you all week. I just thought –“

 

Billy took in a breath and said straight to him:

 

“I thought you were playing me.”

 

The lines on Goodnight’s face smoothed out, and Billy could barely take the guilt and sympathy in his face.

 

“I wasn’t playing you,” Goodnight said softly.

 

“I know,” Billy said. Because he did. Goodnight had already told Billy that. And honestly once he could look past his own bruised ego, Billy knew that when they’d met, Goodnight had been about as aboveboard with Billy as he possibly could have been under the circumstances. It was just…

 

“I have a hard time trusting people,” Billy mumbled, the vulnerable words freeing themselves to the air about as easily as nails.

 

“Well. I can’t blame you for that,” Goodnight said with a huff of laughter that was dazed.

 

They stood in silence in the empty parking garage for a moment and Goodnight finally said hesitantly:

 

“I…I must admit, I didn’t think I’d left you with a very high opinion of me.”

 

Billy looked at him standing there, still seeming uncertain, gripping his character’s hat with one hand, his other hand ruffling through his hair a little like he didn’t know what else to do with it, and something about the motion made Billy’s heart clench.

 

“Not like that at all,” Billy said quietly.

 

Goodnight blinked, his face softening. But then he leaned towards Billy slightly, looking more serious.

 

“Billy, I’ve been kicking myself all week for the way I let things get away from me back then,” Goodnight said in a low, earnest voice. “I didn’t mean to, I just had no idea the person I’d be recruiting would be…hell, would be someone like you.”

 

He took a step towards Billy.

 

“If I could go back in time and meet you again, meet you under different circumstances, more _normal_ circumstances, believe me I would. I wish it were possible to meet someone twice, but –“

 

He broke off staring because Billy had just held out a hand to him.

 

“Billy Rocks,” Billy said.

 

Goodnight stared at Billy and the corner of Billy’s mouth ticked up. And then a slow, hesitant smile crept up on Goodnight’s face, like the sun coming up over a desert and warming it through. And he reached up and took Billy’s hand.

 

“Goodnight Robicheaux.”

 

Billy hadn’t shaken Goodnight’s hand the first time they’d met. But he did now, his fingers curling around Goodnight’s hand as they shook. And the warmth that spread through Billy at the motion felt like more than just the touch of skin.

 

 

 

*

 

 

“Alright. Thanks, Vasquez.”

 

Sam hung up his cell and looked across the table at Emma Cullen.

 

“Goody managed to get into Bogue’s computer. Vasquez is sending over all its files now.”

 

Emma nodded. “I hope it has something.”

 

“Mmm,” Sam agreed, taking a sip of beer and placing it back on the table of their private booth. The bar they were in was on the outskirts of Vegas. They’d been changing their meeting locations every time, but the only thing that didn’t change was Emma’s demeanor: always stalwart, unflinching, and determined. She wasn’t much for idle chatter, but when you got her going about the job, the words could race out of he as brisk and as orderly as soldiers, her eyes lighting up like gunfire. Needless to say, Sam thought she was pretty damn good company.

 

“You said you’re seven altogether, didn’t you?” Emma asked. “How is all that going?”

 

“Well no one’s killed each other yet,” Sam said dryly. “So I guess you could say things are going pretty well.”

 

Emma’s looked down, line of her mouth tilting, which Sam had come to realize meant that she was laughing.

 

“You know, you should come by the house sometime. Meet everyone,” Sam said. “You’d like them.”

 

Emma raised an eyebrow, the motion lifting a freckle by her eye that was darker than the others. And Sam’s lip twitched at the thought of Emma’s fiery resolve coming up against some of the more colourful characters.

 

“Well at the very least you’d find them entertaining. But they’d definitely all like you.”

 

Emma looked thoughtful, a faint line appearing in her narrow forehead.

 

“Goodnight is the only one who knows my…actual reasons for hiring you all. You think they’d still want to meet me if they knew it wasn’t money I was after, but revenge?”

 

“Especially then,” Sam said grinning.

 

Emma huffed out a small laugh. “Well maybe sometime.”

 

“But don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “You don’t have to tell them your personal reasons for wanting to take down Bogue if you don’t want to.”

 

Emma’s eyes flicked up to him.

 

“Are you gonna tell them yours?” she asked pointedly.

 

Sam rubbed his thumb against his glass, frowning at it slightly. “Eventually.”

 

Emma opened her mouth looking like she was about to argue with Sam, but was interrupted by Sam’s phone buzzing in the middle of their table.

 

“That’s Vasquez,” Sam said, reaching for the phone and opening up the files from Bogue’s computer. Emma moved closer to him in the booth and Sam held the phone out so they could both see the screen. Vasquez had sorted the contents of Bogue’s computer into categories. One folder was labeled ‘Covert transactions’ and both Sam and Emma’s fingers reached at the same time to click it.

 

They read through Bogue’s personal records which showed years of illegal dealings: everything from embezzlement to transactions with hitmen who had taken care of people who posed a threat to Bogue’s empire. As they read their eyes got wider and wider, not because it showed that Bogue was one corrupt son of a bitch – which they already knew – but because it was rock solid, irrefutable _proof_ that Bogue was one corrupt son of a bitch.

 

“Jesus,” Emma murmured, trailing a finger down a column for one of the men Bogue preferred to use as muscle to intimidate people. Her finger stopped at one name: Cullen, M.

 

Sam felt Emma still beside him, and he reached for his beer, focusing wholeheartedly on his drink, giving her as much privacy as he could within the small booth.

 

Finally Emma spoke again.

 

“I mean I already knew he was behind it,” she said quietly. Her voice didn’t waver but she turned her head away slightly, and Sam saw her hand move in his periphery, probably to wipe her eyes. “Just seeing it…”

 

Sam nodded, still facing forward, taking another sip of beer.

 

“Somehow what people are capable of never stops being surprising,” he said quietly.

 

He felt Emma looking back at him but he just reached for the phone and they continued to scroll through the folders which showed file after file of all of Bogue’s illicit dealings. Finally Sam sat back up.

 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked Emma, nodding towards the phone. “This is enough to put him away here and now. The judges you tried with your own file were all in Bogue’s pocket. But we take this, show it in court, leak it online for good measure…there’s not a courthouse in the world who could dismiss this case, corrupt or not. It’s open and shut. You’ve got him.”

 

Emma’s fingers brushed over the phone, and Sam just shrugged.

 

“Just feel like I should point it out. With this he’s going to jail at the end of this no matter what. He’ll be ruined whether we rob him or not. Now I’m in it all the way, but if you decide you want to take him down the legal way with just these files, that’s your right. Robbing him would be a bonus, but at this point some would call it an unnecessary risk.”

 

Sam looked at her levelly. “It’s your call. If you want me to call off the job, just say the word.”

 

Emma stared at Sam. Her lips parted and she seemed to hesitate.

 

And then she snapped her mouth shut, her eyes determined.

 

“Fuck that. Let’s hit this son of a bitch for everything he’s got.”

 

Her eyes were bright and Sam felt his own lips curving up in response.

 

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

 

And he lifted his mug and the two clinked glasses, the sound ringing out in the booth like the chimes at midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo! I don't normally do super long author's notes but since it's been a while I'm just popping by to say hello and also thanks for being so patient with this chapter! The update schedule for this fic is basically 'whenevs', but I still didn't expect to take quuuite this long. But real life, man, what can I say. It happens. No promises on when the next chapter will be, but things feel slightly better lately so hopefully it won't take as long this one took.
> 
> A few quick notes: the joke about how much 150 million dollars weighs is a reference to the first Ocean's 11 movie, where the biggest plot hole is that 11 people just physically can't carry that much money haha. But just roll with it:P
> 
> Also I kind of headcanon Faraday as demisexual in this fic, if that's of interest to anyone. And normally I headcanon Goody as bi and it's a headcanon I'm deeply attached to, but in this fic I feel like he's actually gay so let's go with that. I also normally imagine Billy with an accent when writing him, but that hasn't happened while writing this fic yet. So I guess in this AU he mostly lost it which is sad because it's a lovely accent. But Billy is just a pretty sad figure in this fic already. My poor sweet shark-loving weirdo. But don't worry, the team has his back.
> 
> Oh and speaking of sharks, the scene where Billy steps into the room behind the aquarium when we first meet him was written entirely in the moment, as was the shark. It was one of those things in writing that just happened out of nowhere, and I didn't have any plans for it, other than just liking the atmosphere it added. But ayyy guess what, that one shark changed the entire rest of the outline haha. Oh lordy.
> 
> Anyways that's about it, but thank you soooooo much for the feedback in between chapters! It's so incredibly encouraging and I really appreciate it. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and thanks again <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m just saying, demolitions is harder than tech and you know it.”

 

“I know no such thing,” Vasquez replied with a grin, handily catching the baseball Faraday had lobbed his way. “Do you have any idea how much coordination goes into tech?”

 

He wound back and threw the ball back to Faraday with extra force as though proving a point, but Faraday just lazily lifted his hand and caught it easily, the leather of the ball smacking into his palm and leaving it tingling.

 

“Yeah I’m sure staring at your screens all day really takes it out on a person,” he drawled, tossing the ball back across the garage with a flick of his wrist. Vasquez scoffed as he caught it.

 

“Try operating the robotic arms of a deep sea diving submarine from ten thousand feet up, hmm?”

 

Faraday laughed. “Any kid who’s ever played a claw game at an arcade could do that. Try inserting a pin into a detonator without letting the brass touch the sides or you’ll blow up.”

 

“Any kid who’s played Operation could do that,” Vasquez said with sharp grin, throwing the ball back to Faraday.

 

“What? Your screens have fried your brains,” Faraday protested. He looked across the garage and yelled “Hey Goody, what’s harder, demolitions or tech?”

 

“Yeah, give me two minutes,” Goodnight called back from where he was poring over a set of blueprints on a low table, frowning as he circled a few areas with a blue pen, clearly not having taken in a word.

 

“Never mind.” Faraday glanced over to where Red’s legs were visible from where he was working on the underside of a large van.

 

“Red, what’s harder: demolitions or tech?”

 

“Mechanics,” was the muffled reply. Faraday and Vasquez exchanged an amused look, abandoning their game of catch in favour of wandering across the garage to where Red was lying underneath a van that had been jacked up several feet off the garage floor.

 

No one was quite sure when Red’s garage had become the hangout place at the large house they were working in, but it had quickly turned into the space where everyone seemed to gather. At first it had been just Faraday asking Red if he could store his blowtorch in the corner. But then more and more of his equipment started to trickle in until eventually Faraday did his work in there pretty much full-time. He claimed the garage had more space but really he just preferred the company. Red was entertaining in his own special stony way, and the – frequently loud – sounds of Faraday’s work never seemed to phase him.

Eventually Vasquez would wander down, saying he needed a break from screens. That break usually involved him and Faraday going head-to-head in a display that no one took seriously anymore. Then Horne would stop by usually to deliver any equipment he was financing, and would end up staying to act as a sounding board for anyone. Then – drawn by the collection of people and promise of conversation – Goody would trickle in. Sometimes to chat, sometimes to supervise, and sometimes to work by himself in a corner so long as Faraday wasn’t blowing anything up. He could have done that anywhere, but he seemed to prefer working with chatter around him to being alone. Sam was often out, tracking down old contacts, trading favours, and doing any and all the behind-the-scenes work that needed doing. But he stopped by frequently to make himself available.

 

Billy of course wasn’t staying in the house. He had his own room at the casino and his real job took up more time than any of them. But the past week he’d been managing to stop by once a day before work. And these days when he came by, no one missed the way he seemed to look around for Goody first.

“Whatcha doing?” Faraday asked when he and Vasquez got to Red.

 

“Working,” came the reply from underneath the van. It sounded like Red had a pair of pliers between his teeth.

 

“On what?” Faraday asked, undaunted. He’d quickly learned it took a certain amount of playing twenty questions with Red to get him willing to chat.

 

“The suspension.”

 

“Why?” Faraday asked blithely, aware of Vasquez laughing silently at his efforts.

 

There was a rolling sound and then Red was sliding out from under the van where he’d been lying on a wheeled board. His shirt was covered in grease marks, his hair was tied back in a bun and he lifted the pair of goggles he was wearing to glare at them both.

 

“Do you have any idea how much a hundred and fifty million dollars _weighs_?” he asked them.

 

“Well it’s –“ Faraday started, and then broke off with a frown to look at Vasquez who – to Faraday’s relief – seemed no more aware than Faraday was.

 

“Sure, it’s…” Vasquez said, his forehead screwed up in thought. “It’s…”

 

He trailed off and looked back at Faraday with a shrug, and they both glanced back at Red a little sheepishly.

 

“It’s a lot,” Red said wryly.

 

Faraday snapped his fingers. “I _knew_ it.”

 

Red rolled his eyes and went over to his worktable to fetch a drill which he tested a few times with a whirr.

 

“It weighs enough that I have to adjust the suspension on the van,” he said walking back to the vehicle. “We’re using this van to get all the money away, and it has to actually be able to carry all that weight.”

 

“Yeah an unmarked white van isn’t suspicious at all,” Faraday said looking it over.

 

“I’m gonna paint it today,” Red said affronted. “Do you even read anyone’s updates in the group chat?”

 

“Yours are boring, Goody’s are too long, Vasquez uses too many emojis, and Horne’s make no sense, so…no?” Faraday said.

 

Red just knelt down and peered up under the van with a flashlight. “Don’t you have anything to do?”

 

“Hey I’m ahead with all my stuff,” Faraday protested, taking a seat on Red’s worktable. “Why don’t you bug _him?_ He’s got stuff to do,” he said, gesturing to Vasquez who was leaning against the van.

 

“Hold this,” Red ordered Vasquez, passing him the end of a wire which he started to drill into the bottom of the van. And then he glanced back at Faraday looking smug. “Because he’s helping me.”

 

Faraday let his mouth hang open comically as he looked at Vasquez’s who shrugged innocently.

 

“I’m helping him,” Vasquez repeated. Faraday just shook his head at him.

 

“Should never have let you hang out in our garage.”

 

“ _My_ garage,” Red said over the sound of the drill.

 

“ _Anyways_ ,” Faraday said, flipping one of Red’s screwdrivers around in his palm. “I’ve already done as much as I can do with my stuff until Billy shows up with the next piece.”

 

“For getting into the vault, sí?” Vasquez asked him, feeding Red some more wire. “Yeah here’s what I don’t get: why don’t we just get Billy to punch in the codes for us? He knows them.”

 

“Billy can only use his codes to get Sam and Goody as far as the vault door,” Faraday said. “If the heist goes according to plan, the vault is gonna be in lockdown mode by the time they get there. And when it’s in lockdown Billy doesn’t have access. Even _Bogue_ doesn’t have access. They have to wait for insurance to clear an entry. So the only way in is to trigger the vault. Sam and Goody have experience cracking bank safes, but this one is a _little_ stronger. And there’s only one demolitions guy who knows how.”

 

Faraday gave a dramatic sigh. “Face it, fellas. You can’t do this without me.”

 

“Unfortunately, huh?” Vasquez said out of the corner of his mouth to Red, passing him some more wiring.

 

Faraday was about to good-naturedly tell Vasquez where he could stick the rest of the wire he was holding, when he heard a slight cough behind him. He turned around to see Billy standing there, holding onto something.

 

“Speak of the devil! Hey, Rocks,” Faraday said. “Is this my Christmas present?”

 

“It’s the automatic card shuffler you wanted,” Billy said awkwardly, but not because of Faraday. He still seemed a little awkward around anyone who wasn’t Goody. And _that_ had been a complete one-eighty in the behavior of those two lately.

 

“Sweet,” Faraday said with feeling. He took the box and opened it up to see the card shuffler Billy had managed to spring from the casino. “Oh this’ll be perfect.”

 

“Sure,” Billy said, sliding his eyes none too subtly over to where Goody was sitting on an old couch in the garage, still lost in his blueprints.

 

“ _That’s_ what you need for your vault bomb?” Vasquez asked incredulously, walking over having finished helping Red.

 

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Faraday said, holding up the shuffler up to the light, finally able to examine it with more scrutiny than he could have gotten away with at his casino job.

 

“Guess that includes you,” Vasquez said with a snort. “Hey, Billy. If you want to hang out we’re getting pizza.”

 

“I can stay for a little bit,” Billy said, hands in his pocket. His face was neutral but he seemed pleased to have been invited. He still seemed unsure sometimes as to his status on the team, probably due to the fact that he was working for both sides. But anytime someone included him or addressed him personally while they were working, he still gave off the impression of being surprised to have been acknowledged.

 

“Did you need anything else?” Billy asked Faraday, nodding to the card shuffler Faraday was still examining.

 

“Nah, thanks again.”

 

“Alright,” Billy said. “Then I’m just gonna…”

 

He awkwardly made a motion as though to leave the two of them, angling his body in the direction of where Goodnight just so happened to be sitting.

 

“I’m shocked,” Faraday drawled with an evil grin.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Vasquez said, the effect somewhat reduced by his look of barely-concealed amusement.

 

Billy opened his mouth as though to argue with both of them, but they both just stood there watching him with identical smirks. Billy snapped his mouth closed and narrowed his eyes, and was turning on his heel walking towards the couches where Goodnight was sitting.

 

“Alright, and the show starts in three…two…one…”

 

And they watched as Goodnight’s head lifted up at Billy’s approach, and his whole face seemed to light up, and he immediately shoved his papers to the side.

 

“Oh _now_ he returns to the land of the living,” Faraday scoffed. “There he was, oblivious to any other human being on the planet, but the second Rocks shows up he’s whipped.”

 

“Oh come on, it’s kind of sweet,” Vasquez chided.

 

“It’s pathetic is what it is. But I guess them mooning at each other is better than when they were doing the silent treatment,” Faraday said, Vasquez making a sound of agreement. The entire past week Robicheaux and Rocks had been completely and totally joined at the hip. Faraday wasn’t sure when the switch had happened. He just knew one day the two had barely been addressing each other, and the next day they were absolutely inseparable. Every time Faraday saw them they were either sitting at a table with their heads pressed close while they conspired, curled up on a couch with barely an inch of space between them, or leaning against a wall watching everyone, totally angled towards each other. They’d been as thick as…well...as thick as thieves.

 

Vasquez’s phone buzzed and he wandered off to reply, Faraday resisting the urge to tag along.

 

“Joshua!” came a voice, behind him. He whirled around to see Horne standing there holding onto a stack of pizzas.

 

“About time,” Faraday crowed. “Got mine?”

 

“Yes, Hawaiian for you,” Horne said taking one off the top of the stack and handing it to him. “And far be it from to me to judge, but –“

 

“Yeah yeah,” said Faraday who’d heard it all before about his toppings choices. “Red! Pizza’s here.”

 

Red came over wiping the oil off onto his jeans and taking one of the boxes from Horne.

 

“Meat lovers,” Horne said. “Managed to get them to add extra bacon.”

 

“Thank you,” Red said with a kind of careful politeness. Horne looked hopeful, but when Red didn’t say anything more Horne’s face fell a little. But he left graciously enough to go deliver the rest of the pizzas. Whatever their whole deal was, it seemed to have become a bit of a truce. Horne no longer tried to engage Red in conversations the guy didn’t want, and Red no longer openly glared at him.

 

“You know, he is a pretty nice guy,” Faraday said to Red neutrally while opening up the top of his pizza and inhaling deeply. "Oh man I'm starving."

 

“Don’t eat that over my work stuff,” Red said, ignoring Faraday’s other comment. “You’ll get grease on it.”

 

“Your whole table is covered in grease!” Faraday said incredulously.

 

“The healthier kind,” Red said.

 

“Yeah,” Faraday scoffed. He looked around for the next available surface, which was the table surrounded by couches, the ones that Goodnight and Billy were currently occupying while they sat close, chatting in low voices, occasionally laughing together. “Guess we’ll have to interrupt the wonder twins.”

 

They wandered over and Faraday asked Red in a low voice: “So what do you think? Have they actually hooked up yet or what?”

 

“Don’t care,” Red said.

 

“I’m just saying, they’re grownass men and they’re acting like kids with their first crush. It’s embarrassing watching them.”

 

“Yeah,” Red snorted. “They’re the embarrassing ones. Sure.”

 

Faraday turned an uncertain eye on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“At least they know they want to fuck each other,” Red said, leaving Faraday sputtering in his wake as Red went over to the couches and took a seat next to Billy.

 

Faraday shook his head clear and sat in the armchair next to Red. Horne and Vasquez came over sitting opposite Goody and Billy, opening up their own pizzas, Horne asking, “Everyone good?”

 

“Sure took you long enough,” Goody said, angling his own box towards Billy. “Didn’t you go to the door fifteen minutes ago?”

 

“You were talking to the delivery guy, weren’t you?” Vasquez asked Horne, pulling away a slice of pepperoni from his.

 

“He’s had a fascinating life,” Horne said serenely as everyone groaned.

 

“What?” Horne said with a chuckle. “You don’t want me to go to the door, one of you is welcome to pay for once.”

 

“Yeah but you’re rich,” Faraday said through a mouthful of cheese.

 

“Do you guys always get pizza in the morning?” Billy asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“It’s fresh,” Vasquez said with a wink at Billy.

 

“But it’s…ten in the morning,” Billy said, sounding baffled by it.

 

“Sometimes we get it at ten at night,” Red replied, already on his second slice.

 

“It’s just me, Red, and Vasquez staying here now, you really think one of us is going to bother cooking?” Faraday said with a laugh at Billy.

 

“No wonder it looks like a frat house lately,” Billy said, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

 

“I thought you were staying here too, Goodnight?” Horne asked him.

 

“I was,” Goodnight said. “But Bogue offered Orson Calloway a suite at the hotel as a token of appreciation for our new business partnership.”

 

He shrugged and gave everyone a grin.

 

“Would have been unprofessional to turn it down.”

 

He was met with a series of balled-up napkins which everyone threw at him.

 

“Hey speaking of which, isn’t it your man-date with Bogue today?” Vasquez asked him.

 

“Ugh, do we have to call it that?” Goodnight said with a groan, and Faraday realized Goody was in character clothes, although they were a lot less ostentatious than last time. Just jeans with a blue blazer and a white button down, a bolo tie at his neck. His feet were under the table but Faraday was pretty sure he had on cowboy boots.

 

“Man-date?” Faraday asked with a laugh. “Christ, he really does like you.”

 

“Bogue just thinks he finally has a friend who’s as much of a jackass as he is,” Goodnight said with a roll of his eyes. “But yeah we’re going to some basketball game later, which I am most assuredly _not_ looking forward to.”

 

He paused thoughtfully, adding with a mischievous grin: “Courtside seats, though.”

 

He was met with another volley of napkins which people threw.

 

“Oh come on, you all have your jobs, I have mine,” Goody said laughing. “You think I wouldn’t rather stay here with you guys? Bogue is a sleaze. Gives me the creeps.”

 

“I know the feeling,” Billy said dryly from where he was making short work of Goodnight’s pizza.

 

Goodnight made a sympathetic sound, his arm stretched out on the back of the sofa, just barely grazing Billy’s shoulders. Faraday resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“Yeah well don’t get too comfortable here. Pretty soon you’ll all be staying in the hotel too,” Goodnight said to the rest of them. “And then before you know it our merry band will be getting out of dodge.”

 

A bit of a silence fell over the group. The heist was next week, and Faraday was surprised by his sudden disappointment that it would be over so soon. He hadn’t been expecting to enjoy this job so much. For all that there’d been the possibility of tension at the beginning, it was slowly smoothing out into one of the easier teams Faraday had worked with before. Sam was one of the few people Faraday was willing to listen to, and Faraday and Goody were getting along better on this job than the last time they’d worked together. Red was steadily becoming someone Faraday could see himself hanging out with after they wrapped the job.

 

Staying in the house with him and Vasquez had been pretty fun, certainly more fun than Faraday had expected. It had essentially become ‘frat house’ style as Billy had said, empty pizza boxes everywhere, late-night Nintendo races not uncommon. Faraday was so used to working with more colourful characters, that it was fun to spend some time after work with some guys around his own age who were just a couple of normal dudes. Well. Normal-ish. Red was terrifyingly talented at everything, not to mention sometimes just terrifying, and Vasquez...

 

Vasquez wasn’t really like anyone else Faraday knew. Or would probably know again. It was unlikely Faraday would meet anyone else again on a job who would be so cheerfully willing to meet him blow for blow. Which meant Faraday had to push his buttons as much as possible while he still had the chance.

 

“Well you know what I _won’t_ miss about staying here though?” Vasquez said. “Is this one setting off test explosions at six in the morning.”

 

He gestured with his pizza at Faraday, eyes twinkling at him. “It’s unbearable, I mean how is anyone supposed to sleep through that?”

 

“Amen,” Red said from where he was sitting.

 

“Hold up, pendejo, I haven’t gotten to you either,” Vasquez said pointing at Red. “Because half an hour later, _this_ guy gets up to go turn on the world’s loudest blender since he can’t greet the day without his protein, wheatgrass, germ…flax, I don’t know, whatever the hell it is you drink in the mornings.”

 

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of gym rat?” Goodnight asked Red, pointedly raising an eyebrow at the slice of pizza he was currently demolishing. “I wasn’t aware pizza was a health food.”

 

Red pretended to think about it and then lifted his shirt as though to check his six-pack was still there.

 

“I think I’ll be fine.”

 

This time the crumpled up napkins everyone threw were all directed at Red.

 

“Don’t let the pizza fool you, he has about eighty million tupperwares in the fridge with _just_ vegetables,” Faraday explained.

 

“At least he knows what a vegetable _is_ , amigo,” Vasquez said mischievously.

 

Faraday pretended to look outraged. “I know you’re gonna be a vegetable if you don’t back off.”

 

“Prove it,” Vasquez taunted.

 

Faraday just grinned and grabbed the baseball they were playing with earlier.

 

“Think fast,” he said, and whipped it at his head.

 

Vasquez swore, but he caught it laughing, and they stood up amidst hoots and jeers from the others, egging them on. They began whipping the ball back and forth as they cut across the garage, each throw getting harder and more forceful. And then Faraday eventually threw one so hard that Vasquez ducked, and the ball was crashing into one of the garage windows, the glass bursting in smithereens –

 

\- right next to Sam who had just walked in and who threw up an arm to cover himself.

 

There was dead silence.

 

“Hi,” Sam said evenly, lowering his arm and raising an eyebrow at them.

 

Looking around, Faraday had to admit they didn’t make the most impressive sight: a bunch of guys sitting around some nearly empty pizza boxes, and two of them throwing a ball around and breaking things. Hardly the scene a group of professional thieves wanted to be caught in when their boss walked in. Faraday looked sheepishly at Vasquez who looked a little guilty for ducking, but also like he was trying not to laugh.

 

“So what’s going on here?” Sam asked them, and everyone’s heads turned automatically to Goody, waiting for Sam’s second man to answer on their behalf.

 

“We were just discussing how _handsome_ you look in black,” Goodnight said with a loose grin up at him. “Seriously, _never_ wear another colour.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes but there was a slight smile playing at his lips as he said: “Alright, get out of here. I know you all have places to be.”

 

There was a huff of laughter and everyone took the cue and got to their feet, and Faraday threw on his work vest.

 

“I’ll clean that up after my shift,” he said cheerily to Sam, who just waved him away. Laughing Faraday strode over to Vasquez who was throwing on his leather jacket.

 

“Yo, what did you want to order tonight?” Faraday asked him. “Red wants Greek but I feel like Chinese, so be a tie-breaker.”

 

“Oh sorry, amigo,” Vasquez said, sounding like he genuinely was. “ But I’m out of town tonight, remember?”

 

“Oh right,” Faraday said frowning. He’d totally forgotten. He tried not to feel too let down.

 

“Gotta see a man about a camera,” Vasquez said, throwing some things into a small backpack. “There’s only one guy who can supply this kind, but he can’t cross state lines with his parole. So I’m driving down to L.A. this afternoon and spending the night there.”

 

“And who knows?” Vasquez added with a grin, hoisting the backpack over one shoulder. “Might get some beauty sleep for once, without you guys waking me up in the morning.”

 

“Not even beauty sleep could help you,” Faraday said facetiously.

 

Vasquez winked and stuck a pair of aviators on his head. “I’ll be back by dinner tomorrow. If you still wanted Chinese then I’ll back you up.”

 

“Good. Because I don’t know how much more of Robicheaux and Rocks’s googly eyes I can take by myself.”

 

“Guero, you don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” Vasquez said laughing.

 

“Well…I’ve got _one_ ,” Faraday replied salaciously.

 

Vasquez laughed again, but his eyes took on a more devilish look as he turned towards Faraday. And Faraday hadn’t realized how close they’d been standing until Vasquez was completely in his space, the extra inch he had on Faraday looming predatorily.

 

“Oh really?” Vasquez said, a grin still tugging at his dark beard, distractingly warm where he was leaned into Faraday's space. “Because here I was thinking that you were all mouth.”

 

Their eyes met and Vasquez’s were sparking with trouble, and Faraday swallowed because for all they’d been poking at each other _this_ was new, and he opened his mouth to say what, he didn’t know, anything to reassert himself when –

 

Vasquez’s phone went off, vibrating in his pocket, close enough to Faraday’s hip for him to feel the buzz.

 

“Saved by the bell, huh, guero?” Vasquez said lowly, reaching into his pocket but not looking away from Faraday’s face, still wearing a smirk. And then he was raising his phone to his ear and answering, “Sí,” and he stepped out of Faraday’s space and loped off, leaving Faraday feeling like he’d just run a marathon.

 

What in the actual hell –

 

Okay so it wasn’t like Faraday had been oblivious to the fact that their tech guy was almost absurdly hot. He wasn’t blind, thank you very much. He just hadn’t really given it much thought. Faraday talked a good game, might have gone through a promiscuous phase in his early twenties, but the fact remained that he wasn’t generally all that interested in people that often. He might have fleetingly observed the fact that Vasquez was ridiculously attractive with his dark hair, darker eyes…certainly the way he was prone to sucking lazily on his cigars didn’t help, sharp grin veiled by smoke…

 

But Faraday had just found it all irrelevant. He was only genuinely interested in people once in a blue moon, and the odds of the same person being interested back at the same time were slim to none, so he just hadn’t felt the need to even consider the possibility.

 

At least not until Vasquez had decided to start playing gay chicken with him, and now Faraday didn’t know _what_ to think anymore. He just knew he’d broken out into goosebumps the second Vasquez had leaned in close, some long-dormant part of him flaring up at the proximity, the fact that it was _Vasquez_ igniting the feeling somehow making it even more visceral and…and…was _that_ what this was with them?

 

“Oh shit,” Faraday whispered to himself, suddenly remembering Red’s comment of ‘at least they know they want to fuck each other.’ Oh god how the fuck did _Red_ know? Faraday hadn’t even known himself for chrissakes.

 

Faraday glanced back outside to the bright driveway where Vasquez had been swallowed up by the sun. Faraday supposed Vasquez had left the ball in his court, up to Faraday to toss back his way once Vasquez got back, or not. He was going to have to do some thinking about this but not right now.

 

Throwing his armour back on, Faraday walked over to where Goody and Billy were standing and getting ready to leave for the casino.

 

“Believe me when I say I hate to interrupt what looks like a beautiful moment,” Faraday said. “But any chance I could get a ride to work?”

 

Billy arched an eyebrow at him. “I can get away with being seen with Goodnight, but probably not both of you at once.”

 

“Please,” Faraday wheedled. “You can drop me off at the bus stop before, but it’s _so_ hot in my jeep. Red says I’m gonna need a whole new AC unit.”

 

Billy looked at Goody questioningly and Goodnight just shrugged.

 

“Carpooling amongst criminals. Fine by me.”

 

“Sweet, thanks,” Faraday said, and they made their way outside, getting into Billy’s sleek, black, company Benz.

 

Billy started up the car which came to life with a quiet purr, and they pulled out of the house’s driveway. Faraday watched Billy and Goody from the backseat, smirking a little at the way they kept stealing glances at each other and smiling whenever their eyes met. Faraday restrained himself from saying something like “So have you guys kissed yet or what?” because truthfully, he sort of thought the answer was ‘no’.

 

Goodnight was playing with the console of the car, finding the radio and all of sudden guitar was flooding the speakers and a voice was singing:

 

_“…Maria, Maria…she reminds me of a westside story…”_

Faraday blinked, startled, and realized Goodnight’s hand was reaching back out to change the station.

 

“No wait,” Faraday said quickly. They both looked back at him in surprise and Faraday shrugged. He’d felt rattled before but suddenly he felt a lot more calm.

 

“I kinda like this one,” he said with a smile playing at his lips as he settled back into his seat, looking out the window as they drove off to the sounds of guitar played by Carlos Santana.

 

 

 

*

 

“I know it’s last minute,” Bogue was saying as Goodnight and Billy entered his office. “But I’m going to have to cancel on the game.”

 

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Goodnight said, waving his hand. “You’re a busy man.”

 

“I _wish_ it was for business,” Bogue said darkly as he packed up some files into a briefcase. “But remember that idiot nephew I told you about? The one who goes to Southern? Got word about some vandalism charges. He and his buddies decided to break into some of the properties around campus and do a bunch of damage to both the houses  _and_ my name.”

 

“Ah, college,” Goodnight said shaking his head. “All that education in the air can turn people into damn fools sometimes.”

 

He watched Bogue pack and asked, “So you have to go all the way down there just to bail him out?”

 

“Already gotten the owners to drop the charges,” Bogue said. “But this isn’t the first time he’s been in trouble with the university and there’s talk of kicking him out for good. So I’m heading down to see if I can convince the dean to change her mind.”

 

Bogue checked the time on his watch and added with an oily smile: “Usually a new library helps in these situations.”

 

Goodnight laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

 

“Anyways I’ll be staying the week because the boy’s parents will make my life a living hell if I don’t stay and help set him straight. Might as well get it over with now, then maybe I can avoid seeing them for another five years.”

 

“Well best of luck down in old Texas. Give the business building my regards if you pass it. Practically used to live there once upon a time.”

 

“Billy, I’ll be back on Friday in time for Fight Night,” Bogue said, dropping his amiability as he appraised Billy coolly. “Can you keep things running by yourself until then?”

 

“Yes sir,” Billy said in the neutral voice Goodnight had come to learn was Billy’s ‘Bogue voice’ and which he had also come to learn he hated hearing on Billy.

 

“Well if you’re away it might be as good an opportunity as any for me to start getting familiar with things around here,” Goodnight said casually. “No time like the present. I can start flying my team in so we can lay the groundwork. Billy here can show me the ropes today, save you the trouble later. That is if he doesn’t mind.”

 

“He doesn’t,” Bogue said. “Hear that Billy? You show Mister Calloway around the place, get him familiar with the floor and the surveillance needs. Cancel anything else you have today. Whatever Mister Calloway needs, whether it’s assistance, tools, hell I don’t know, hot towels, see that he gets it. You follow?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Billy said.

 

“Well my plane is fueled up, I’d better be off,” Bogue said checking his phone. “See you, Orson. And if Billy here doesn’t come through, you just let me know.”

 

“Oh I’m sure we’ll be productive,” Goodnight said with an airy smile. “Safe flight.”

 

Bogue left his office leaving Goodnight and Billy standing there. And once they were sure he was descending in the elevator, they looked at each other more familiarly than they had before. There were no cameras in Bogue’s office, which allowed them to address each other more freely.

 

“Well, Billy,” Goodnight said with a suggestive grin. “I believe your boss just told you to take me on a date.”

 

Billy smiled and shook his head even as his neck flushed beneath his sharply creased collar. “That’s not what he said.”

 

“He said to show me around the place, that sounds enough like a date to me.”

 

Billy looked like he was trying not to laugh. “He told me to get you a hooker if you wanted.”

 

“A _what?_ ”

 

“Hot towels is hotel code for an escort,” Billy said, lips twitching at the way Goodnight’s mouth fell open. But Goodnight quickly recovered and snapped his mouth shut in favour of saying:

                                 

“Well let’s not rule it out immediately, I mean it _has_ been a long morning –“

 

Billy laughed and started to turn away when Goodnight said:

 

“But I think I’d still like to take you on a date just the same.”

 

Billy turned back to him, and while his lips had parted just the slightest bit, they immediately smoothed out into a smile and Goodnight couldn’t help the way his lips were tugging up in response. They’d been doing this dance all week: stolen looks, sitting closer every day, chatting comfortably, lingering while everyone left a room just so they could walk together…it was like the first week of awkwardness had never happened. And every time they’d sat together, laughed together, sought each other’s eyes out first, Goodnight couldn’t help but have the same thought every time of ‘this is how it’s supposed to be.’

 

He’d been planning on waiting until after the job to ask Billy out properly. But as he’d told Bogue, there was no time like the present.

 

“Oh would you?” Billy asked teasingly.

 

Goodnight hummed, eyes sparkling. “Been thinking about it. Haven’t you?”

 

Billy took a step towards him, hands in his pocket, and he gave a shrug. “I might have been.”

 

His eyes flicked up to Goody’s and his lip quirked. “Mostly been thinking about kissing you though.”

 

Goodnight felt his heart leap and he bit his lip, a grin threatening to break out over his entire face. “Is that a fact?” he asked, staking a step closer to Billy who still had that damn almost-smile glimmering around the edges of his mouth. Because for all that they both knew it was coming, they hadn't really seemed to have gotten a good moment. Although at this point it was clear that they were both definitely on the same page as far as wanting to was concerned.

 

“Mm hmm,” Billy said, tilting his head.

 

“Well I mean…you could, is all I’m saying,” Goodnight said affecting a casual shrug, hearing the laugh in his own voice over his heart which had suddenly picked up, and he just couldn’t help how goddamn _happy_ he felt.

 

They were standing almost nose to nose at this point in Bogue’s office, still looking at each other with the same teasing expressions, but they softened as Billy lifted his hand as though to smooth down Goodnight’s lapel. His hand hovered over Goodnight’s chest, and Goodnight could swear he felt a patch of skin take on a tinge of warmth in the shape of Billy’s hand, his hand that was now hesitating.

 

“I don’t…” Billy said in a hoarser voice than before, and it sent a low shudder through Goodnight. “I want to but not in…his office.”

 

Billy then looked straight at Goodnight, eyes dark but resolute, and the shiver Goodnight had felt before was nothing compared to how he felt when Billy said:

 

“I want you to be something that’s only mine.”

 

Goodnight nodded and swallowed, the low words sending a spike right through him, almost causing him to sway. He wanted to follow the feeling and lean in and wrap his arms around this mixture of sharp and sweet, wariness and warmth, all bound up in this extraordinary human who somehow felt the same all-encompassing connection to Goodnight that Goodnight felt to him.

 

But as Billy had said, this was not the place. So Goodnight nodded again and offered Billy an understanding smile, hoping he could wrap some of what he was feeling around the man instead. And maybe Billy seemed to feel it because he smiled back and reached out to thumb hesitantly at Goodnight’s collar, like he just couldn’t resist, and it made Goodnight’s stomach practically drop out.

 

“I guess we’d better go down to the floor,” Billy said, business again. “I should at least pretend to show you around for the sake of the cameras.”

 

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint the cameras,” Goodnight said, trying to clear his brain. “Shall we?”

 

They left Bogue’s office, creating a careful distance between them as they walked down the hall towards the elevator, their faces impassive. But when they stepped inside and the door slid closed, Goodnight turned to look at Billy with a hopeful expression. Billy kept facing forward but his lips twitched.

 

“I’m not kissing you in his elevator either.”

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Back at the house, after everyone had cleared out, Red watched as Sam strode across the garage towards the coffee table covered in almost empty pizza boxes, one slice left.

 

“They are all pretty on top of their stuff,” he felt the need to say, defending his teammates.

 

“Oh I know,” Sam said smiling a little. “I just wanted them all to clear out so I could get that last piece.”

 

He reached down and took the last slice of pizza, sinking into one of the couches and taking a deliberate bite, smirking at Red as he did.

 

Red snorted and shook his head. He liked Sam. The guy had a reputation for being one of the best team leaders out there, and seeing it firsthand, Red had to agree. Sam was both good at making himself available and also giving everyone else their space. He was involved but he never micromanaged. Red didn’t think they’d had one stressful day on the job yet, and it was largely because of Sam’s example. He made everything seem easy, when Red knew first-hand that this job was anything but.

 

“So how’s all your stuff going?” Sam asked him while eating his pizza.

 

“It’s pretty good,” Red answered. “Finished the suspension this morning, gonna paint the van today.”

 

Sam nodded. “Good. Need a hand?”

 

“Yeah actually, thanks” Red said. He hated painting cars with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

 

Red hung around the couches. There was something that had been bothering him, and now that Sam was here he was wondering if he should share it.

 

“What’s on your mind?” Sam asked him.

 

“Look, I’ve been going over some of the stuff for the job, and as far as getting into the vault goes, I think we’re pretty solid. But it’s about the exit plan,” Red said.

 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “What about it?”

 

Red looked at him uncertainly. “Can I be honest with you?” And at Sam’s nod, Red said: “It kind of…”

 

“…sucks?” Sam finished for him.

 

Red’s lips twitched, relived. “I wasn’t gonna say _that_ , but…yeah. Kind of.”

 

Sam sighed, wiping his fingers on a spare napkin.

 

“Well if I can be honest with _you_ , I agree. I’d had my doubts for a while now, so I was scouting out the place again this morning. And the more I think about it, the more I don’t like it.”

 

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Red admitted. “We could still probably pull it off. But fake SWAT team? It’s gonna be too hard to get everyone down to the vault _and_ get the money out. The whole thing seems too exposed.”

 

“Yeah that’s why I’ve been second guessing it,” Sam said. “And I appreciate you telling me the same. I do value what you guys have to say.”

 

“So what’s gonna happen?” Red asked.

 

“I’ve got Goody looking into it,” Sam said. “We’ve been talking about it this week, and he knows I don’t like the original plan. He’s going to be on the lookout for a new option today.”

 

“He’s gonna come up with an entirely new exit strategy in one day?” Red asked skeptically. People took weeks to make a plan concrete, not to mention thinking of an idea in the first place.

 

Sam’s lip twitched. “You’d be surprised. Once we were breaking some stolen heirlooms out of a guy’s manor and we still didn’t have a good way in. Then we saw a picture of a flower vase, Goody just kind of froze and yelled ‘HYDRANGEAS’ and the next thing I knew he was inventing a whole gardening con on the spot, overalls and all.”

 

Red almost laughed. He knew enough about Goodnight to know the guy was a nut, but really…Red supposed they all kind of were when all was said and done.

 

“Are those your paints?” Sam asked about the large cans along the wall.

 

“Yes,” Red sighed, resigning himself to painting a whole van that was so large it was almost a truck. He didn’t mind painting walls, or even his own face when he’d done ceremonial events back on his own reserve. But doing paintjobs was the worst part of vehicle work and Red hated every second of it. The insides of vehicles were intricate puzzles to him, but the outsides? The combination of using wet-and dry sandpaper, compressors, buffers, paint thinners, top coats, under coats, every coat on the planet was tedious and frustrating to him. Just because he was good at it didn’t mean he _liked_ it.

 

But Sam was already rolling up his sleeves and Red squared his shoulders and followed, and the two of them got to work.

 

 

 

*

 

Billy and Goody were walking around the floor of the casino, Goody trailing behind Billy who was pretending to give him a tour of the floor. The game floor of the casino felt almost like a living, breathing thing: roulette wheels clacking on one side, the jangling of slots off on another, the air ringing with the clicking of chips, and gambling tables with acres and acres of green velvet, as far as the eye could see. It gave the appearance of an enormous lawn, the bursts of playing cards resembling blooming flowers.

 

And connecting them all was the people: a never-ending stream of people who strode and skittered from one game to the next, all calling out loudly over the clamour of voices, players getting more and more excited as they felt themselves swept along with the wave of the gambler’s fallacy that they could predict the next hand, that this _next_ card would be the one.

 

It was chaos. And the only person seemingly unaffected by it all was Billy. He strode through it all with the same purpose and direction he’d had back when Goodnight had been watching him, before they’d even met. If the casino was a commotion of chaos then Billy was the one fixed, unchanging point at the centre of it all.

 

Goodnight followed behind closely, nodding along to the things Billy was pretending to point out for him, answering in the thicker drawl of his character. He appeared to be fully focused on the internal workings of the casino floor, but really he was mostly watching Billy. Billy projected a different energy here than he did at the house, and Goodnight couldn’t blame him for wanting total control in his place of work. And as for Billy’s employees…workers fairly snapped to attention when they saw him coming, some of the more skittish ones practically jumping out of his way. He didn’t really blame Billy’s employees for feeling intimidated by Billy. But Goodnight still felt annoyed with them on principle.

 

“Blackjack sees the highest percentage of table game action,” Billy was explaining as they passed a row of tables. “Roulette is second. Poker is third, but since it has the most varieties it sees the highest changeover of dealers, and what we want for poker is a more streamlined system of surveillance.”

 

“We can make that happen,” Goodnight said as they passed a table currently engaged in a lively game of Texas Hold’em. Goodnight stopped to watch and Billy automatically stopped too. The security in the area seemed to straighten up when they realized Billy was lingering.

 

“Looks like a showdown,” Goodnight said interestedly. Most games of Texas Hold’em ended in all but one of the players folding. But two players at the table were staring each other down, each thumbing at a pair of cards lying facedown on the table. Five shared cards were spread out in the centre of the table.

 

“Ponytail guy has it,” Goodnight said, referring to the man in the black suit with a long silver ponytail.

 

Billy glanced at Goodnight, almost seeming to smile, and he shook his head. “No way. Pocket square does,” he said about the black man sitting across from Ponytail Guy who had a magenta pocket square pocking out of his own suit and who was looking smugly at Ponytail Guy.

 

“Definitely not. Ponytail is trying not to change his face,” Goodnight said. “If he really had low cards he wouldn’t be trying so hard to look so neutral.”

 

“Pocket Square is looking at his cards less,” Billy said. “He’s more sure of them, so he has it.”

 

“Is that a wager, Mister Rocks?” Goodnight said.

 

Billy shook his head amused. “I don’t bet on casino guests.”

 

“Then bet on me,” Goodnight said turning to him, a glint in his eye. “If I’m right and Ponytail guy wins then you have to play one game with me.”

 

“What here?” Billy said. Goodnight just nodded. “Okay, and what do I get if I’m right?”

 

“The satisfaction of beating me at my own game,” Goodnight said cheerily and Billy snorted.

 

“What, reading people?”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“Fine.”

 

They watched as the players revealed their cards. Pocket Square had a pair of threes and a pair of sixes that matched up with the cards on the table. People around the table murmured appreciatively, some of his hanger-ons nodding satisfied. But then Ponytail then laid down his cards to reveal a trio of queens. Pocket Square’s smile dropped abruptly, and the dealer declared Ponytail the winner.

 

“Told you,” Goodnight said victoriously. Billy just shrugged, not looking particularly bothered at having been proved wrong. “Come on, we’re next.”

 

They took a seat at the table, the dealer starting slightly when he realized it was the casino’s head of security sitting down. But he quickly restarted his easy, professional patter, welcoming players to the table, shuffling in a snappy fashion, and dealt out everyone’s hands.

 

Goodnight checked his own cards, pleased that he could work with them. He didn’t worry about smiling at his hand, because he’d been smiling ever since he’d sat down. Easier to maintain a positive expression than a flat pokerface. And also people tended to expect a steely countenance around a poker table. A perpetually amiable mask could be much more unsettling than a hardened one.

 

Goodnight caught Billy’s eye across the table as the players placed chips for their blinds. Billy hadn’t looked at his cards yet. The only thing he was looking at was Goodnight. His face was perfectly neutral but Goodnight still felt like he was being laughed at. And only then did Goodnight start to feel like he was in over his head.

 

They were playing five rounds and Goodnight won the first two hands easily. Five percent guesswork, five perfect skill, ninety percent luck. Only a chump ever convinced themselves they had an actual ‘talent’ for gambling. The only thing constant about poker was people. And while it was possible to predict _them_ , no one can predict cards.

 

Billy played completely averagely for the first four rounds, never winning but never the first to fold either. He only called, never raised, never pushed the envelope. And if his playing stayed thoroughly middle-ground, so did his face: never slipping over into any identifiable emotion. The only thing he looked at during every hand was the table. The people around it might as well have been chips themselves.

 

Finally in the last round, Goodnight wanted to get a rise out of him. Goodnight was sitting pretty with three jacks, the fourth having been revealed on the table just as he’d hoped. The only people left playing were him and Billy, who was still looking mildly at the table as though its green velvet was of particular interest to him.

 

Goodnight whistled at him to get his attention, and when Billy finally glanced up, his eyebrows raised, Goodnight gave him a crooked grin.

 

“It’s your call.”

 

“Oh right,” Billy said. “All in.”

 

He said it with no more inflection than when he’d called bets. He might have been ordering himself a drink. Goodnight swallowed down a laugh. No wonder he’d been playing so moderately the whole time. For him to go all in now, anyone would think the man had four aces on him. Anyone but Goodnight. Bluffing bastard.

 

“Is that so?” Goodnight said, tapping one chip against the other, aware of the small crowd that had assembled, most of them casino employees who were curious about what had gotten their fearsome security manager to loosen up enough to actually play a game.

 

Billy shrugged. “Your move. What’s it gonna be?”

 

His face was still expressionless but his eyes were dancing at Goodnight. And even if Goodnight lost this hand, hell if he didn’t feel like a winner to have gotten that look out of Billy.

 

So he pushed his chips to the centre of the table, stared back at Billy and said:

 

“With you? I’m all in.”

 

Billy’s mouth quirked and Goodnight revealed his cards still staring at Billy. Billy was gazing right back at him, not even bothering to look down at Goodnight’s cards, and that was when Goodnight knew he’d lost. And then Billy showed his own: a straight flush, ace high.

 

Goodnight just laughed, not really surprised when all was said and done.

 

“You stole all my winnings, Mister Rocks,” he said. “I’ve half a mind to never speak to you again.”

 

“Liar,” Billy said looking amused.

 

“Thief,” Goodnight shot right back with a smile, and Billy’s eyes sparkled all the more.

 

They stood up allowing new players in, and it was only when Billy was edging out of the circle that something occurred to Goodnight.

 

“Hold up,” he said slowly. “You never thought Pocket Square was going to win at all.”

 

Billy shrugged. “Like you said. Ponytail was trying too hard to look neutral. Of course he was going to win.”

 

Billy looked nonchalant but something about the line of his mouth was looking rather smug, and Goodnight felt his own lips curve up incredulously.

 

“You _wanted_ to play poker with me!” Goodnight exclaimed. “You pretended to disagree with me just so we would play! Were you…were you _conning_ me, Billy Rocks?”

 

Billy shrugged again. “What was it you were saying? Something about the satisfaction of beating you at your own game?”

 

He gave Goodnight a cheeky smile. “You’re right. It is pretty satisfying.”

 

Goodnight laughed out loud. “You wily son of a bitch. Lead me away before I get cross with you.”

 

Billy laughed in response, looking down with a grin and they began to walk away. But before they did Goodnight caught the voice of one casino worker saying to the other:

 

“I’ve never seen him laugh before…have you ever seen him laugh before?”

 

Goodight and Billy wound their way around the rest of the casino, ending up in the middle strip of the Gold Rush’s floor. This section was designed to look like an old-fashioned midway. Shooting galleries, taffy pulling, ring tossing, and other classic carnival-type games. Vendors dressed up as saloon workers called out for people to test their luck.

 

“One for the lady, step right up, we have some lovely rifles designed to fit smooth in your hand, come on, step right up and have a go, aw too bad, second time’s the charm, no? Why it’s Mister Rocks, come on up and try your hand at the shooting galleries. No? How about for your friend?”

 

Billy glanced over at Goodnight who had stopped to look interestedly at the old-timey shooting gallery, rows of moving metal ducks clinking around on their mechanical rails for the targets . “Want to?”

 

“Oh I don’t think so,” Goodnight said, looking amused at the toy rifles.

 

Billy nodded. “Probably a good idea. Seeing as how you’re on a losing streak and all.”

 

Goodnight pretended to look offended. “You wound me.”

 

He placed a tenner on the table asking: “Tell me, my good man, what’s the highest score I can get?”

 

“You have twenty-five shots in there, if you can hit twenty-five ducks that makes you a grand winner,” the man behind the stall said in his rapid-fire delivery, gesturing theatrically to the stuffed animals in the stall. “Any prize of your choosing.”

 

“Start picking out what prize you want, Billy,” Goodnight said, testing the weight of the rifle before lifting it up and peering down the barrel.

 

“Already have,” Billy said with a smile as he watched Goodnight concentrating.

 

Goodnight closed his eyes and let out a breath, and opened them up again, steely and determined. He squeezed the trigger and there was a ping as one of the metal ducks flipped down. And now familiar with the weight of the gun he fired off the rest of his shots one after the other, quick and controlled, counting up to twenty-five. Duck after duck flew down as his shots got faster and faster until he seemed to be in a kind of trance and the rifle took on a life of its own, pulled about in his arms as though by some outside magnetizing force, taking down target after target until there were no targets left at all.

 

The vendor was staring at Goodnight with his mouth open, and so were some passerbys. Goodnight just lowered the rifle and glanced back at Billy with a grin.

 

“Take your prize, Billy Rocks,” he said and Billy wanted to sweep him up in his arms and kiss him even more than he had back in the office. He wanted that smiling mouth on his so badly he wasn’t aware of anyone else in the entire room at all.

 

And then a siren went off on a nearby slot machine, jolting Billy back to reality. He looked around to see where it had come from, and there was a woman covering her mouth, standing in front of her slot machine with its bells ringing and sirens wailing to announce a jackpot.

 

Billy turned away from the cheering crowds and looked back at Goodnight who was no longer smiling. His face seemed frozen. He looked slowly down at the rifle in his hands, almost seeming to flinch, and Billy knew something was wrong.

 

“Goodn – Mister Calloway?” Billy asked, immediately going to him. Goodnight took in a shuddering breath, letting it out and taking in another. They were almost painfully even, like it was taking him every effort to control them.

 

“Can we…” he started to say, alarming Billy with how distant and desperate his voice had gone, “Can we go somewhere more quiet?”

 

Billy didn’t even have to think.

 

“Come on,” he said, leading Goody away from the noise. He took them out of the maze of tables and machines as quickly as he could, over to the back wall of the casino. The aquarium was a smooth sea of glass, its inhabitants flicking about inside in flashes of fin and scales as they made their way to the unassuming door in the corner. Billy stuck his keycard in the slot and once it blinked green he opened the door, bringing Goodnight inside its shadowy interior.

 

“Can you give us a minute?” Billy said to the tank monitors who were – reliably – playing poker at the foldout table. They looked up from their game to see Billy standing there looking more urgent than he normally did, and Goodnight standing close behind him, looking at the floor as he took shallow breaths.

 

“We have to take the tank readings in two minutes,” the one named Jim said somewhat uncertainly, not sure if he’d get in trouble for missing it.

 

“I’ll do it,” Billy said immediately. “You know I know how.”

 

The two technicians were still staring at him and he looked at them earnestly.

 

“Please?”

 

They nodded and got to their feet, leaving the cards on the table, and Billy sighed gratefully. And once they left the quiet room, the door clicking shut behind them, Billy spun around to look at Goodnight who still seemed focused only on his own breathing, which was even but rattling.

 

“Goody?” Billy asked placing a careful hand on Goodnight’s shoulder. “Goody, you okay?”

 

Goodnight looked at him alarmed but Billy squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

 

“No cameras in here,” Billy said. “The aquarium is two-way glass, no one can see in here. Come on, Goody, you gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah, I just,” Goodnight said, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. Whatever he’d been going to say trailed away. Billy looked at him thoughtfully and took a clipboard down from off the wall.

 

“I have to do a checklist for the tank. Can you go check that thermostat reading for me?”

 

Goody looked at him uncomprehendingly and Billy gestured towards a thermostat beneath the aquarium. Goody read out the temperature in a hoarse voice and Billy jotted it down on the sheet.

 

“Now the water pressure? It’s the big one on the right.”

 

Goody went to take the reading and Billy wrote it down. He continued to direct Goody to all of the dials and gages in the cool, calm room, Goodnight reading the numbers off the various instruments, Billy taking note of each one. Goodnight’s voice was becoming a little clearer each time and he seemed to be carrying himself more loosely, and Billy felt no small amount of relief for it.

 

“I have to take a water sample, it’s tricky” Billy said, reaching for a thin instrument that looked like a long eyedropper. He nodded towards the far wall where there were a number of large, state-of-the-art rolling tanks parked in the shadows. “Can you go count how many rolling tanks are in use? There might be some more around the corner too.”

 

Goodnight went away, Billy intentionally not watching him go. He wasn’t sure if Goodnight needed a moment to collect himself or not, but he figured he’d give the man some privacy just in case.

 

When Goodnight came back he looked much better and there was more colour in his cheeks. Billy hung up the clipboard and looked over at him.

 

“Okay?” Billy asked carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight said. He added with a breathy laugh that was almost convincing: “Happens sometimes.”

 

He’d said it deprecatingly but when he looked up at Billy his face seemed sincere when he said:

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Billy said, walking over to join Goody where he was now gazing up at the tank, watching the fish swim by. The room was dark but the light of the water was rippling across his face. And they just stood there for a while in the dark room, both of them lit up blue by the tank.

 

“There was a job once,” Goodnight said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Before I met Sam. Just a simple bank job. Wasn’t even high security, but the guy in charge wanted us all armed just in case. He was a pretty hard case but at least he was a pro. Some of the guys on that team were just thugs though.”

 

Goodnight shrugged as he gazed into the tank.

 

“I could tell some of them were bad news. But I was young. Excited to be in the game. Not too picky about who I worked with, just so long as I was moving up in the world.”

 

His eyes were focused intently on a blue and yellow angelfish. But his voice was soft as he said:

 

“It went south pretty fast. An alarm got triggered, police were swarming the place, and we were all behind the counter. There were sirens…everywhere. And then one of the guys on my team…”

 

The angelfish flicked itself away and Goodnight’s eyes watched it swim off.

 

“He went nuts. Took his gun out and leapt out from behind the counter, trying to shoot every cop in the place. Just kept firing and firing. They opened fire back, started calling for backup. The rest of my team squared up and started firing on the cops too, yelling at me to get it together ‘cause I was still hiding behind the counter.”

 

Goodnight reached up to stroke the glass of the tank and a scarlet swordtail swam up as though to nibble his finger.

 

“They all went down. One had been shot right between the eyes. Landed beside me. The guy who originally started shooting was somehow still up, still taking down cops left right and centre. It was like he was possessed. When I managed to look around the counter there was only one cop left alive. Super young guy too, about my age. Lying on the floor, bleeding out from the leg. He was out of bullets but kept on firing, his gun clicking over and over. The guy on my team was walking towards him, reloading, and he was going to kill that cop for sure.”

 

Goodnight stared as the small red fish continued to swirl about his fingers.

 

“So I jumped out from behind the counter and shot the guy on my team. In the back.”

 

Goodnight sighed as the little red fish tired of his fingers against the glass and swam away.

 

“He went down and I was left holding a smoking gun, staring at that kid cop who was staring right back at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Think he was scared for a second that I was gonna shoot him too. But I dropped the gun and got the fuck out of there before any more cops showed up. And I never got the slightest hint anyone was after me. I think they all thought everyone on that team had been killed. And I can’t be positive but…I’m pretty sure that cop covered for me. If you can believe that.”

 

Billy nodded because he could believe it. He’d stayed silent throughout Goody’s whole story, but now he said:

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

Goodnight shrugged humourlessly. “Depends how you look at it. Some would say I betrayed my entire team by not squaring up for them. But _killing_ one of them? And for a _cop_? Hell, if there’s a bigger sin in the criminal underworld than that, I’ve yet to hear it.”

 

“But it’s not betraying your team that you think is the worst part…is it?” Billy said, looking at Goodnight whose eyes were lost in the water, still thinking about the man he’d killed.

 

“No it’s not,” Goodnight answered quietly. “I never wanted to kill anyone. That’s not why I got into this game.”

 

He looked over at Billy and shrugged. “But everyone talks about ‘honour among thieves’ in this business. Hard not to think like you’re the only guy without it sometimes.”

 

“Honour among thieves is bullshit,” Billy said suddenly, and more vehemently than he’d meant to. “People only claim to have it when it suits them. But you’d be surprised to see how quickly everyone drops it when they have a chance to get ahead.”

 

“Not everyone,” Goodnight said looking at Billy a bit curiously. But Billy just shrugged and repeated:

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Yeah well. I guess that’s just one of those thing I’m always going to think about, isn’t it?”

 

Goodnight gazed around the room, finally seeming to fully absorb it for the first time. He looked interestedly around the walls with their many odd dials and buttons for tank maintenance and then back at Billy.

 

“Speaking of which…this your special thinking place or something?”

 

“Yes,” Billy said simply, no use in denying it.

 

“Good choice.”

 

Goodnight smiled at him in a way that pulled right at Billy’s heart a little. And then Goody looked back into the tank more animatedly than he’d been staring into its depths before, actually seeming to take in its lively occupants.

 

“That one’s pretty,” Goodnight said of a bright yellow fish that swam by with frills that fanned out from its body like a child’s crayon drawing of a sun.

 

“Rabbitfish,” Billy said automatically.

 

“How ‘bout this big fella?” Goodnight asked of a large spotted fish that slowly droned on by.

 

“Lyretail grouper,” Billy said, looking at it. Goodnight glanced over at him incredulously, smile tugging at his lips again.

 

“That one?” he asked deliberately, pointing to a blue and yellow fish.

 

“Damsel,” Billy said.

 

“And that one?” Goodnight asked in disbelief about a small orange one.

 

“I forget,” Billy said, lips twitching.

 

“Liar.”

 

“Hawkfish,” Billy said.

 

“Alright, fishboy,” Goodnight said, but he was laughing. “So which one is your favourite?”

 

“Haven’t seen her yet. No wait, I think that’s – yeah, there.”

 

The brightly coloured fish scattered as the shark came into view, long sharp tail swaying from side to side, cutting through the water as elegantly as a knife. She swam past their heads giving them a full view of the black tips on each point of her silvery body.

 

“Gorgeous,” Goodnight murmured appreciatively, his eyes following the shark from the downward slope of her mouth to the high stretch of her striking tail.

 

They watched as the shark left, and Goodnight asked: “What’s her name?”

 

“Blacktip reef shark,” Billy said, eyes following her as she continued her circuit around the tank.

 

“No I mean her _name_ name.”

 

“She hasn’t got one,” Billy said, glancing back at a Goodnight who looked both amused and thoroughly unconvinced.

 

“Come on, I know you’ve named her,” he said teasingly but not meanly. Billy hesitated, and then looking into Goodnight’s eyes gone aquarium-blue he answered:

 

“Miekka.”

 

“Mika?”

 

“No ‘Miekka’. It’s Finnish.” Billy felt a bit embarrassed but he continued. “It means sword.”

 

Goodnight’s eyes were looking at Billy with something Billy couldn’t read, but the man was smiling softly.

 

“Like I said before…good choice.”

 

It suddenly seemed even quieter in the room. The various machines whirred gently around them in a low hum as Billy and Goodnight just stood there, barely a foot of space between them. Billy turned properly to face Goodnight and felt a pang of longing practically pierce through him.

 

The light of the aquarium was rippling across Goodnight’s face, his eyes lit up by the reflection of the water. There was one patch of light in particular that was dancing across Goodnight’s cheek and tickling at the edge of his mouth, and Billy couldn’t resist cupping Goodnight’s face to catch it.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight breathed out letting his eyes fall closed. He took a step towards Billy, bringing their chests almost flush. He reached out with a hesitant hand to smooth out the lapel of Billy’s suit, and the soft touch caused Billy’s heart to flutter against his chest like the flipping of fins.

 

Billy brushed his thumb against Goodnight’s cheek, the light flickering over his own skin now, painting them together in one rippling stroke. Goodnight leaned further into the touch, filling Billy’s hand with the feel of warm skin, bristles, and a light that didn’t feel like it was coming from the water.

 

Billy leaned in slowly to rest his face against Goodnight’s, to feel the warmth of him, the breath of him, and to revel in the small sliver of space left between them that was filled with more light and hope than Billy had ever let himself feel before.

 

“I know you said no elevators or offices,” Goodnight said in a hoarse voice, hands smoothing tentatively, wonderingly down Billy’s sides. Billy let himself be pulled in closer, melting into the feel of Goodnight’s hands. “But what about here?”

 

Billy swallowed and nodded against Goodnight’s cheek, whiskers tickling at his own face which he turned towards Goodnight, seeing his own want reflected there in every line.

 

“Here is good,” he said in a ragged voice. He lowered his eyes towards Goodnight’s lips which had parted breathlessly. And hardly allowing himself to breath, Billy leaned into the last inch of space between their lips, let his eyes fall closed, and kissed Goodnight with all the longing he had.

 

Goodnight’s breath had caught from the very first touch of lips against his, and he parted his lips and kissed Billy back. The kiss was slow, gentle, almost chaste. But Billy’s heart stuttered in his chest and he couldn’t help the sound of want he made as he wound his arms around Goodnight and pulled him in as close as he could.

 

They kissed in the shadowy room, bathed in blue and rippling light, lips never parting for an instant as they tilted their heads, tightened their arms, and kissed like they never meant to stop. There was a flame building up from deep within Billy, and each touch of Goodnight’s was igniting it. The flickering glow of his hand as he slipped it into Billy’s hair, his thumb tracing the shell of his ear; the softness of his lips as they moved achingly sweet against Billy’s; the gentle scrape of his beard as it caught on Billy’s chin; the breathless sounds of his want vibrating against Billy’s chest; the warmth of his arms as he wrapped them around Billy and kissed him with all that glowing warmth that threatened to consume Billy from the inside out. It was like burning to death in the world’s most inviting fire, and Billy was in cinders.

 

He broke off with a gasp, unable to resist nuzzling his face once against Goody’s, and everything about the feeling was more than he’d ever let himself dream for in his life. Goody’s hands were soothing at him, marveling at him, and one lifted to trace a path down the skin of Billy’s throat, as shaky as Billy felt.

 

Billy leaned back in and kissed Goody again, already hooked on the feeling. It was like Billy was sand and Goodnight was cool clear water, and every touch of him was rushing and flooding Billy’s entire existence. Goody’s lips parted and Billy didn’t know who started the slow slide of tongues but the slick sensation was enough to have Billy nudging at Goodnight until the man’s back was against the glass of the aquarium. Billy dipped his head and kissed Goodnight hard, hungrily, and their lips were slick and warm together, and Billy was pressing him against the glass tank, Goodnight’s hands were pulling him in by the suit, and they were kissing urgently like they couldn’t get enough.

 

After a long while, as though by a feeling of mutual settlement, their kissing finally seemed to slow, the greedy grasp of their hands started to calm, and Billy pulled back with a quiet breath, the intake of air a balm on his spinning head. He rested his forehead against Goody’s who still had his eyes closed, a hand resting over Billy’s hip.

 

“Lord, Billy…” he got out, the words breathless.

 

“Yeah,” was all Billy could articulate, tilting his face into Goodnight’s neck and breathing in.

 

Goodnight stroked at his hair wonderingly, and Billy could practically feel the tremor of laughter bubbling up through the man.

 

“I mean I knew I’d enjoy that, but I didn’t think it would be…would be _that_.”

 

Billy knew what he meant. He knew he’d been attracted to Goodnight when he’d first seen him. He knew he’d felt drawn to him without really knowing why. He knew he’d liked him after getting to know him more, and he knew he _really_ liked him the more time they spent together.

 

But even knowing all of that, Billy couldn’t have known it would have felt like this. Billy didn’t even know what ‘this’ was, since he’d never felt it in his life, let alone had it breathing warm and heart-poundingly real and solid in his arms.

 

Billy hadn’t realized it but he’d had Goody practically pinned to the wall of the aquarium. He drew back to look at him, heart gone tight for the sight Goodnight made against the glass, blue light behind him, the silhouetted line of him dark and rumpled where Billy had been clutching his clothes, his hair mussed, his lips red, eyes still closed contentedly. He opened them a crack and they were as bright and piercing as the array of fish that swirled behind him, and he grinned at Billy, a quicksilver flash in the dark. It made Billy’s heart hurt, and Billy didn’t even know why.

 

“I wish…” Billy started, and then stopped because he didn’t know what he was going to say. He wished he could keep Goodnight there with him forever? He wished he could drag them both off somewhere far away, to hell with the entire job? He wished he could keep this and call it his and his alone?

 

Whatever he’d been about to say immediately fled his brain as he heard a telltale beeping at the door. He had just enough time to step away from Goody before the two tank technicians came back in.

 

“Rocks? Sorry, but one of the pit supervisors was looking for you. There was an issue with a dealer accepting a bet that was more than the quota or something. And now the guest is all up in arms, hollering. Doesn’t want to give up his chips since he says that dealer shouldn’t have accepted the bet anyways.”

 

“Christ,” Billy muttered, rubbing his temples and already mentally running through a list of protocol. He glanced back over at Goody and the list almost dissolved right out of him. Almost, but not quite.

 

“This isn’t going to be fun,” Billy said regretfully. “Do you mind waiting here for me?”

 

“Oh not at all,” Goodnight said, easily slipping back into his character drawl, which let Billy know he was at least back in form. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine, me and…Jim, is it? And Randy? Pleasure.”

 

“I’ll try to be quick,” Billy said, and left the room, muttering darkly about ‘idiot dealers’ the whole way out.

 

Goodnight watched him go, still feeling like he was sparking under the skin from the touch of Billy, the warmth of him still lingering on his lips in a buzzing memory. But he straightened his cufflinks and shook the hands of both of the men who supervised the aquarium, definitely blunter and more salt-of-the-earth types than the glitzy employees who swanned about the casino floor. Goodnight liked them immediately.

 

“Name’s Orson Calloway, I’ll be working here soon,” he said amiably.

 

“What, here?” the one named Jim asked incredulously about the dim, quiet, tank room they were in.

 

Goodnight laughed. “Naw, security. I was just getting the tour but came over a bit sick. Knew I shouldn’t have had the oysters at lunch.”

 

“Oh, security?” Jim asked interestedly. “That’s definitely tight around here.”

 

“Yeah well I’d hate to be that pit dealer,” Goodnight said jokingly, nodding towards the door where Billy had just left.

 

“What, because of Rocks?” the one whose tag read Randy said, waving a calloused hand. “Aw don’t worry about him. His bark’s a hell of a lot worse than his bite.”

 

“Is that so?” Goodnight asked, suppressing a smile, somewhat tickled by getting an opinion of Billy the Casino Manager from someone who only saw that side of him. Especially since it seemed to be a good opinion.

 

“It’s the big man you wanna watch out for. Good old Bogue. Wouldn’t trust that guy an inch,” Randy said distastefully.

 

“You and me both,” Jim replied with a bit of a shudder.

 

“Rocks is a hardass, but honestly? I think it’s just ‘cause he doesn’t want them to get in trouble with Bogue. It’s like he’s trying to keep them as far away from him as possible.”

 

“No kidding?” Goodnight murmured looking back towards the door, feeling a pull towards Billy who was out there now.

 

“Way better to have Billy on your case for slipping up than Bogue.” Randy finished with a sage nod. “Guy’s wound tighter than a snare drum but he’s alright.”

 

“Sounds like you two know him pretty well,” Goodnight said casually, not because he was digging for information about Billy, but because he was hoping to get them in a chatty place. It never hurt to get more of an inside perspective when running a job.

 

“Not really, but I guess more’n most,” Jim said. “He’s always dropping in here.”

 

“To talk to you guys?”

 

“Nah, I think he just likes the quiet. Sometimes he’s looking at the fish, sometimes he’s playing with the equipment, sometimes he’ll just sit on the floor ‘till you forget he’s there, just staring at the tank. We thought it was pretty weird at first, didn’t we Randy? But we’re pretty used to it by now. He doesn’t get in anyone’s way and it’s no harm.”

 

Goodnight felt a clench in his chest, and he started to tune them out as he gazed properly around this room that was Billy’s place; that Billy had let him into.

 

He looked around it properly, now that his head was finally beginning to clear. The room stretched away the same length as the aquarium, but most of the equipment and tables and such were centred in the same open area. The only other equipment down the hall was all those large rolling tanks Billy had had him counting earlier.

 

He looked back towards them, remembering counting ten of the large glass tanks on wheels, another two in use, one full of various mollusks, the other with clownfish. Goodnight had watched them swimming until he’d been able to get himself under control.

 

Goodnight glanced up at the ceiling, squinting at the tiles up there. If he wasn’t mistaken, the porous tiles meant that the ceiling was hollow above that. Made sense. There would probably have to be some kind of catwalk above the top of the aquarium.

 

Gears were spinning in Goody’s head and he felt his pulse pick up. He knew the feeling well. It wasn’t quite the feeling of epiphany, but more like the first hints of an idea. Little individual ideas that were slowly starting to link together in Goodnight’s mind, building a foundation for some more pieces to fall into place. Goodnight just had to hunt the rest of the ideas down to see if the idea would hold.

 

“I mean I guess it still is kinda weird, but we don’t really mind,” one of the tank supervisors was still saying about Billy, pulling Goodnight back to the present.

 

“On the contrary,” he said slowly, his pulse thrumming with the thrill of the instincts of the job. “It’s inspiring. Now I seem to remember you fellas playing poker when I came in. If you had no objection to a third player, how about dealing me in and you could tell me more about what it’s like to work here, hmm? Why don’t you start with this room?”

 

After a few rounds of low-stakes poker, Goody winning a few but politely losing the rest, he had learned everything he wanted to know. He was practically vibrating with excitement, sure he was onto something here, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the house and find Sam so he could unleash his idea at him.

 

First he had to see Billy though, and when Billy finally came back in Goodnight couldn’t resist smiling, covering it with the motion of reaching for his jacket.

 

“Boys, it’s been a pleasure. You’ll have to let me come back sometime and give me a chance to win my money back. And Randy, tell your wife that if she asks for Rebecca the next time she calls The New York Times about the crossword puzzle, Becky will hear her out. Have a good one.”

 

He left the room giving it one last satisfied look and turned back to Billy who said somewhat regretfully:

 

“I’m gonna be tied up here for a while. But I can find you a car if you want.”

 

“That would be good,” Goodnight said. He did have a complimentary room at the hotel. But he knew he would be up all night for a brainstorming session with Sam, and he’d rather go back to the house for that. “But first…”

 

They were passing the booth for the shooting gallery, and Goodnight squared his shoulders walking up to it. It wasn’t so much guns that jolted him these days. It was mostly sirens. But holding a gun when that alarm had gone off earlier certainly hadn’t helped.

 

But with no trace of his former anxiety he strode over the booth with a wide grin, the vendor almost jumping when he saw him.

 

“Remember me?” Goodnight asked brightly. “I was in such a hurry earlier it seems I forgot to collect my prize.”

 

“Sure thing, sure thing, “ said the vendor, still seeming rather flustered by the quality of Goodnight’s shooting, waving a hand at the array of stuffed animals. “Go ahead, like I said, any one you want.”

 

Goodnight scanned the toys, lighting up when he saw it again. He pointed at the stuffed shark and the vendor took it down for him, handing it to Goodnight. And Goodnight triumphantly turned around and presented the shark to Billy with a flourish, beaming at him the entire time.

 

“Mon cher.”

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

“Alright, that oughta do it, don’t you think?” Sam asked Red.

 

They were standing in front of the large van which was finally finished. It was the same black as The Gold Rush’s personalized delivery vans, with the same gold lettering. Red had managed to get his hands on a stencil for the logo but it had still been a bitch to get right.

 

Red let out a breath and flopped back against his worktable, the most emotional Sam had ever seen the kid look. Red’s steady stream of cursing had been entertainingly colourful too.

 

“ _Finally_ ,” Red said with feeling.

 

“Hey it looks great,” Sam said. “Hard part’s over. Now you don’t have to think about it again until we’re driving a hundred and fifty million dollars away in it.”

 

“That’s the part I _don’t_ mind thinking about,” Red said with a smile making Sam laugh. They pulled off their gloves testing the paint with a finger. It was quick-dry paint, and the van looked and felt ready.

 

Just then the door from the house to the garage was bursting open, and Sam turned around to see Goody running at him top speed.

 

“Sam, Samuel, Sammy Boy, I’ve got it,” Goodnight said elatedly, grabbing Sam by the elbows and spinning them around in circles.

 

And then Goodnight was abruptly letting go of Sam to start wildly sketching out his idea, Sam’s face growing serious as he listened to him. Goodnight kept laying out the plan in a rapid-fire delivery, barely pausing to breathe, his face lit up as he went through step after step, Sam listening carefully the entire time.

 

Finally Goodnight paused and took in a large breath and beamed at Sam. “Well?”

 

“I’ll have to check the blueprints…” Sam started, already turning towards where they were lying on the table.

 

“I checked the digital blueprint on my phone in the cab,” Goodnight said eagerly. “It _works,_ Sam! The timing, the position, everything. It checks out.”

 

Sam looked at Goody’s elated face, marveling the way he always did at the things Goodnight came up with sometimes.

 

“Goody, what –”

 

“What would you do without me?” Goodnight asked with a wide grin.

 

“Something like that,” Sam said with a huff of laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. And then they turned towards Red who’d been standing their watching their entire exchange like he thought they were nuts.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Red said slowly. “Rocks has a pet shark…and somehow that means a whole new plan?”

 

“Got it in one,” Goodnight said brightly. “It means some extra work for you though, if you’re up for it.”

 

“Yeah,” Red said simply. “What kind of work?”

 

“Oh mostly your usual slinking through the shadows undetected,” Goodnight said. “But you might need to have some face time with Bogue.”

 

“ _Me_?” Red asked incredulously.

 

“He knows Billy, he knows Horne, he knows me, he’ll have seen Sam by then, we can’t risk him recognizing Faraday from the floor, and Vasquez will be too busy monitoring. So yep, you. Ever conned anyone face to face before?”

 

“Never,” Red said but Goodnight made a _pshaw_ sound.

 

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll be great. I’ll give you a crash course.”

 

“A ‘crash course’ in being a con artist?”

 

“Yeah, we’ll watch The Sting! It’ll be fun.”

 

“The what?” Red asked skeptically looking over at Sam.

 

“His favourite movie, just go with it,” Sam said to him feeling amused.

 

“So how about it, Sam?” Goodnight asked him eagerly. “We doing it?”

 

“I like it,” Sam said. “Okay. Team meeting at the house tonight. If Billy can’t make it I’ll leave you to tell him about the change. And someone’ll have to call Vasquez too since he’s out of town. Let’s get this ball rolling.”

 

Goodnight clapped his hands together gleefully.

 

“Alright.” He then paused and looked thoughtfully over at the van. “We’ll have to paint that thing though.”

 

Red looked like he had just swallowed a cactus.

 

“What? If you two can do it, how hard can it be?” Goodnight said brightly, pushing his sleeves up. And with that he reached for a paintbrush and walked over to the van with a grin. “Shall we?”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count went up to ten, not because I'm changing anything but I'm just splitting this latest chapter in half so that you guys could have a shorter wait time between chapters. So here's part one which I call in my head: 'A Chatty Interlude'. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

The air was warm and the sky was a perfect Sistine blue dotted with puffy clouds. The sun was high and tourists were out enjoying the bright afternoon, the sounds of camera shutters and laughter on the breeze. The scent of coffee was wafting around the café’s terrasse, a gondolier was singing in a rich tenor, and water was lapping gently against the stony walls of the canal with all the sounds and senses that Venice had to offer.

 

It wasn’t the real Venice of course. Instead it was Vegas’ ‘Grand Canal’: a strip of shops, waterways and cafes outside the bright, shining Venetian hotel. And sitting on the terrace of one of those cafes were Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks, currently enjoying their coffee and their company, and not in that order.

 

“…so then he told me that his character had French roots and that he should learn French gun vocabulary before even learning gun safety, and I said: ‘Son, _I_ have French roots, and if my granddaddy could see you leaving your finger on the trigger like that he’d whoop your ass six ways to Sunday.”

 

Billy laughed silently while Goodnight rolled his eyes remembering some of his old students.

 

“Unbelievable some of the stuff they would come up with jus to get out of learning technique. Trigger happy thespians the lot of them.”

 

“I can’t believe you taught actors for a whole year.”

 

“Well I did a couple smaller cons just to pass the time, but pretty much,” Goodnight replied. “Longest year of my life, I’m telling you. Actors are impossible, Billy.”

 

“You are an actor,” Billy said amused. What else could you call what Goody did day in day out on their team? Billy’s skills had always run more towards the kind of recon that Red did for them now. And while he’d secretly always found conning people to be kind of fun when he occasionally had to do it, it wasn’t his go-to skillset. And he’d seen enough of Goody’s to know the man was gifted.

 

“No but that’s just it!” Goodnight said spreading his hands above his latte. “You don’t see _me_ getting all precious about it! All that stuff about the ‘method’, or ‘the process’ oh god, don’t get me started. I’d like to see movie actors try to fool a mark in the real world. They’d crash and burn without a camera or a director there.”

 

Goodnight took on a thoughtful look. “Except Newman. Newman could probably do it.”

 

“Don’t know him,” Billy said.

 

Goodnight looked personally offended.

 

“Paul Newman? The Hustler? The Sting? Cool Hand Luke? No? Okay when this is done, you, me, movie night.”

 

Billy just smiled. Despite the utterly bizarre circumstances, for the first time in his life it felt like he was actually dating someone. In the past few days, Goody had been showing up to drag Billy out of his office somewhere away from the casino. Sometimes for lunch, or sometimes coffee, like they were doing now. Billy had been expecting they’d mostly talk about the heist, and they had, but surprisingly they talked about everything else under the sun too. Goodnight made it easy, switching from one topic to the other as warmly and briskly as the breeze that wrapped around them as they sat there beneath the bright Vegas sun.

 

And speaking of the sun…

 

“You’re burning,” Billy said with a smile around his espresso, looking at the way the tip of Goodnight’s nose was reddening.

 

“Oh I know,” Goodnight said cheerfully. “It’ll turn into a tan, it always does.”

 

“Hmm,” Billy said unconvinced. “It’s still not good for you.”

 

“Oh come now, you could use a little sun,” Goodnight said gesturing towards Billy with his latte before taking a sip. “Don’t get me wrong, the vampiric pallor has its own allure, especially on you, Mr. ‘Pair of cheekbones in a suit.’ But a bit of sunshine wouldn’t hurt you either.”

 

“Casinos don’t have windows,” Billy said, suddenly feeling defensive. “And it’s not like I have a lot of chances to get out.”

 

Goody glanced up at him from over his latte, a flash of guilty understanding in his eyes. But to Billy’s relief he tamped it down and was back to his normal voice.

 

“Understandable,” Goodnight said. “But I must say, you’ve looked particularly radiant these past few days, even more so than usual. Should I consider my fine company to be a contributing factor?”

 

“If you like,” Billy said dryly, lips twitching as Goodnight laughed. Billy thumbed at his espresso cup before admitting:

 

“It’s…easier when Bogue is away.”

 

And it was. Billy could feel himself loosen up considerably whenever Bogue was out of town. It was like a physical weight was off.

 

When he’d first started working at the casino it had been an unbearable period of Bogue just having him there as someone to look down on. Bogue’s favourite thing to do with his position of power was to abuse it, and he’d been only too happy to do so when he’d created a pawn out of Billy. Why send someone to jail when you could get your own personal verbal punching bag out of the situation? It hadn’t taken Billy long to realize just what twisted person Bogue was, and he often found himself wishing he’d chosen jail. But rather than roll over, Billy had doggedly made himself indispensable to the running of the casino. The harder he worked, the more Bogue seemed to leave him alone. Bogue might have been somewhat resentful of how much his personal scapegoat had managed to turn security around, but he’d grudgingly allowed it, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. And in the past few years they’d managed to mostly ignore each other. Billy preferred it that way.

 

And even better than ignoring his existence was when Bogue was away altogether. Everyone at the casino relaxed more, and Billy found himself sort of enjoying his work. It felt almost like a normal job.

 

“Well you should wear sunblock anyways,” Billy said, abandoning the topic of Bogue before it became one.

 

“Christ you’re as bad as Sam,” Goodnight said. “Once we did a job in Miami and he claimed he had to work the entire schedule around the sun because I was bound to get burned.”

 

“Well did you?”

 

“Of course, but that’s not the point,” Goodnight said with a grin.

 

Billy smiled and looked down into his coffee cup, smile fading somewhat as something he’d been wondering came to the forefront of his mind again.

 

“And you and Sam…” he began awkwardly. “You really never…?”

 

He’d wondered about them before. Billy already knew Goodnight and Vasquez had once had a thing, since Goodnight had gently given Billy a heads up in the interest of full disclosure in case they all worked together again. Billy knew it wasn’t his business and he wasn’t _really_ jealous…okay maybe he’d felt the tiniest bit jealous at first, but their tech man was too easy to like, and Billy was no stranger to the nature of flings. However, what he _was_ a stranger to was still being friendly with someone afterwards. And he knew Goodnight would have told him if he and Sam had also ever been involved, but they were so clearly close he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

But Goodnight just laughed. “Nah, never. But you’re certainly not the first person to think so.”

 

Goodnight took a sip of coffee and grinned before saying: “Sam is in fact a straight man, but I mean other than that he’s perfect.”

 

He winked at Billy who let out of a huff of laughter.

 

“How did you meet?”

 

“Believe it or not we actually met in Venice. Not _this_ Venice,” Goodnight added gesturing expansively to the fake canal which was glittering in the sunlight with more sparkle than the real Grand Canal did. “But the Italian one. After that bank job…you know…the one I told you about…I wanted to get out of the country. I was splitting my time between France and Italy because I speak the languages better. And I didn’t know this at the time, but Sam had a lot of Italian contacts which is how he came to be there too.”

 

“Sam speaks Italian?” Billy asked.

 

“Probably saves more time to ask what languages Sam _doesn’t_ speak,” Goodnight said with an eye roll. “But yeah we both ended up in Venice and were both grifting a little to pass the time.”

 

Goodnight grinned as he remembered. “I was doing a ‘dumb tourist’ con and Sam was doing a ‘help the dumb tourist’ con. By the time we figured out what the other was trying to do the whole thing was just too ridiculous to be embarrassing. So we laughed and bought each other a drink or our troubles, and I didn’t see him again until a year later when we were both back stateside.”

 

“I was ready to get back into the game again, albeit with better people this time,” Goody continued. “Got myself on a job where the leader was some guy with a reputation for doing jobs with no guns. So I show up and lo and behold, who’s the guy? None other than Sam Chisolm who just laughed when he saw me and said he thought I might have fallen in the canal after he left. Anyways we hit it off I guess, discovered we made a pretty good team, and we’ve done almost every job together since.”

 

Billy took a sip of espresso. There was something else he’d been wondering and he didn’t know if he should bring it up, but the curiosity was almost burning a hole in his throat.

 

“Did he really go to jail for you?” Billy asked hesitantly. He’d heard enough through the grapevine and knew enough about their records to have had the thought.

 

A shadow crossed over Goodnight’s face and Billy immediately wanted to take back the question. Goodnight was so open with him that Billy had been starting to take his willingness to share things with Billy for granted. But everyone deserved to keep some things to themselves, and Billy knew a sore spot when he saw it.

 

“You don’t –” Billy started apologetically, but Goodnight waved him off.

 

“No no, it’s fine, its…”

 

Goodnight was frowning, but he didn’t seem to be directing it at Billy. More like he was thinking things through.

 

“That’s what I had thought at first as well. And hell, maybe that was part of it. Lord knows I used to beat myself up over the thought.”

 

Goodnight’s eyes were lost in thought as he twirled a spoon around on the table, the sunlight glinting off the silver.

 

“But Sam’s always said that every man has the right to choose which round he’s lost. Play with fire long enough, eventually you’ll get burned. No matter how many precautions you take.”

 

Goodnight shrugged. “Sam has his principles. And for him, choosing to go to jail when you’ve lost one was better than running away from a fight and convincing yourself you’d won.”

 

It was the exact opposite of what Billy had done: so desperate to stay out of jail he’d taken an option he’d thought would offer him more freedom. He might have been free from jail, but he’d never be free of his own decisions. And he privately admired Sam for having the wisdom to recognize which was better.

 

“What is it?” Goodnight asked Billy, and Billy came to with a slight start, not having realized how deep in thought he’d been.

 

“Just never thought about it like that,” Billy said.

 

“Yeah well,” Goodnight said as he tore some crumbs off his croissant, scattering them to the cobblestones for the sparrows that had been lingering hopefully on the cobblestones by their table. “He can be a pretty poetic son of a bitch when he wants to be.”

 

“And your friend,” Billy said quietly.

 

“Best friend I’ve ever had,” Goodnight said, smiling as one of the sparrows hopped up to the arm of his chair. “And it sure beats working alone.”

 

He glanced over at Billy. “Although I’m not knocking the lone wolf style,” he said somewhat apologetically. “Sure seems like you’ve pulled your own share of impressive stunts working alone.”

 

“Yeah, getting caught and blackmailed sure is impressive,” Billy said more sourly than he’d intended, the embarrassment tied into resentment.

 

Goodnight leaned in quietly and the sparrow flittered away. “You know none of us think of it like that, don’t you? Everyone admires you. All of us. I mean sure you got caught but doesn’t change the fact that the first half was maybe the gutsiest break in of all time. Hell, it’s taking us seven guys just to lay a path inside the casino now, and you made it all the way into the _vault_. And you planned it all alone.”

 

Billy’s arms were folded over the table. The iron had soaking up the sun all afternoon, but its warmth felt absurd against the coldness of Billy’s memories. He’d never told anyone the other side of it before, but Goodnight had already told Billy so much, offered so much of himself to Billy. And he glanced back up at Goodnight, at the sincerity in Goodnight’s eyes, he took a breath and a chance and said:

 

“No I didn’t.”

 

“Didn’t what?”

 

“Plan it alone,” Billy said, reaching for his espresso which had been getting cold but he took a sip anyways and looked back at Goodnight who was watching him uncertainly. Billy sighed and put down his cup.

 

“I used to have a partner. This guy called Denali. We weren’t what I’d call friends exactly, but we’d worked together a couple times. And I thought I could at least trust him.”

 

Billy thought back to how stupid he’d been not to see it. “He suggested something that had never been pulled off before: robbing a casino. Not just the cage or anything, but the actual vault. He would run security and I would do the break in.”

 

Goodnight was listening to him quietly, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun, making it easier for Billy to keep talking.

 

“But he had his own agenda,” Billy said. “He and one of the cage cashiers had worked out a plan to rob from the cage. And he was expecting me to get caught, _counting_ on me getting caught. I’d trigger an alarm, security would rush me, and they would make off with the cash from their own plan while security was distracted. All they needed was some sucker to try and do the impossible.”

 

“Except no one told me it was impossible,” Billy said with a shrug to the table. He wasn’t saying it to brag. He was still embarrassed by his own hubris, his own cockiness. He’d been so high on the thought that he could pull it off, someone thinking he could do the impossible, that he’d never stopped to think about _why_ someone was asking it of him.

 

“Anyways they didn’t think I’d make it as far as I did. They thought I’d get caught the second I scaled the outside wall. But pretty soon it was clear to them I was getting further and further, and they were starting to get side-eyed by security themselves. So to save their own skins they ratted me out, and security came after me, and they were able to get away. By that time I had already made it into the vault. And you know the rest.”

 

Goodnight was staring at him, not having interrupted during the entire story, even though Billy had seen his jaw tighten when Billy had brought up his former partner’s side plans for Billy.

 

“Maybe…” Billy said and stopped abruptly.

 

“Maybe what?” Goodnight asked him gently.

 

“Maybe that’s why I don’t trust people who talk too much about ‘honour among thieves’,” Billy said with a humourless laugh.

 

Goodnight let out a breath, lowering his hand to take a sip of his coffee, looking dazed. “To be perfectly honest…I can’t believe you agreed to work with a team again now. If that’s what happened to you the last time, I…I can’t believe you went for this idea at all.”

 

Neither could Billy, but it wasn’t quite as simple as that. He didn’t know how to describe what he was feeling to Goodnight the day they’d met. The day Billy had gotten up the guts to ask Bogue if Billy had finally paid his dues and if he could go. The day Billy had realized Bogue would never let him go willingly since it meant letting go of one ounce of the power he coveted. The day Billy had sat in a bar, hopeless beyond measure, and then hope had walked in with a weathered smile and a card that read ‘Goodnight Robicheaux’.

 

Billy didn’t know how to explain that to Goodnight. So he just felt his lip tick up as he said:

 

“Maybe the guy selling it to me was cute.”

 

Goodnight grinned, graciously letting the more serious line of conversation slip away. “How cute are we talking here?”

 

“Not as cute as he thinks he is,” Billy said dryly, lip twitching more as Goodnight laughed.

 

Eventually they started to leave the café, and Goodnight turned to Billy.

 

“Sam likes to have a ‘team dinner’ a couple days before the curtain goes up. Give everyone a chance to unwind. He put it tomorrow so that you could make it, since you don’t do the night shift on Wednesdays. Are you…”

 

Billy looked at Goodnight whose hands were in his pockets, smiling sheepishly looking for all the world like he was asking Billy to prom.

 

“Are you coming?”

 

“I’m on the team, aren’t I?” Billy said archly, and Goodnight’s smile widened.

 

“That you certainly are, mon cher.”

 

They were out of the café at this point. It wouldn’t take more than a few steps to join the stream of tourists who were spilling through the paved streets, winding around the jewel-box boutiques and cafes. But Goody was looking around surreptitiously, and then he was taking Billy’s hand and pulling him around a corner and into an alley. And without breaking his motion he was backing Billy up against the wall and kissing him.

 

Billy couldn’t help the small moan he let out and he slid his hands into Goodnight’s jacket, palms circling Goody’s waist over his shirt, and Billy could feel how warm his skin was beneath the cloth. He pulled Goodnight closer, tilting his head and kissing him back.

 

They’d been doing this whenever they could, which wasn’t a lot, but it hadn’t stopped them. Anytime a room cleared and they were sure they weren’t being watched or followed, one of them would get that look in his eye and draw the other closer to catch them in kisses that felt familiar and new all at once.

 

They pulled back eventually, lips still ghosting over each other’s. Goodnight was wearing a lazy smile, his eyes roaming over Billy’s face, looking as satisfied as a lion who had just made a kill, and Billy was suddenly struck by the fact that Goodnight was just the tiniest bit taller than him. And the kick Billy felt at being blocked in against the alley wall by him was not unpleasant.

 

Just to spite his own position, Billy smirked and hooked his fingers into the waist of Goodnight’s pants and jerked Goodnight towards him, catching him in a biting kiss.

 

Goodnight made a low sound in his chest and seemed to melt into it. Billy’s hands curled in his belt, catching just the slightest brush of warm skin, but then just as quickly Goody took Billy’s hands and pinned them to the wall with more strength than Billy had felt from him so far, and leaned in to kiss Billy _hard_.

 

Billy was panting by the time Goody drew back, now wearing a smirk of his own.

 

“There’ll be plenty of time for that, sugar,” he said huskily, leaning forward, his thigh pressing against Billy where it was slotted between Billy’s thighs.

 

“You say that like you know we’re gonna get away with it,” Billy gasped, unable to resist rubbing up once against Goodnight’s thigh, and then restrained himself because he wasn’t about to start humping Goodnight’s leg in an alley.

 

…Not because he didn’t _want_ to but if he started he wouldn’t stop. And he was already running late for his afternoon shift at the casino.

 

“Because I do know,” Goodnight said with conviction, but Billy didn’t miss the way his tapped his knuckles twice against the alley wall as though to knock on wood. “But call me a slave for the right moment.”

 

Billy sighed, knowing Goodnight was right. He wanted more than just the stolen moments he’d been getting with Goody, but he knew more than anyone what was at stake.

 

So he smoothed down Goodnight’s jacket, tugging him back into place, already learning – not that he’d admit it – that he sort of liked fussing over Goodnight and putting him together. And he had a feeling he’d like taking him apart even more.

 

Goodnight smiled at Billy’s ministrations. And then he cupped a hand around Billy’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

 

“I’ll call you later?” he said when he pulled back.

 

Billy smiled and nodded. Billy finished his night shifts late, but Goody didn’t seem like much of a sleeper and had taken to calling Billy after he was done work. Billy would lie back on the single bed in his room at the hotel, knowing that Goodnight was somewhere out there under the same roof doing the same thing in his own hotel room. So many times Billy had listened to that low soft voice through the phone and had wanted to ask if he could come over to Goodnight’s room. But he wasn’t used to this, and he just didn’t want to mess it up.

 

As though sensing Billy’s thoughts, Goodnight rested his palm over Billy’s hip and leaned in again to kiss the corner of Billy’s mouth.

 

“And don’t worry about how it’s gonna go,” Goodnight murmured against Billy’s lips. “It’s all gonna be fine.”

 

“The job, or you and me?” Billy mumbled, tracing the shell of Goodnight’s ear, the words easier to say when he wasn’t looking into Goodnight’s eyes.

 

He felt Goodnight smile against his mouth.

 

“Both.”

 

When Billy finally rejoined the throng of people he turned back to look at Goodnight who had left the alley and was standing by the café. He was standing and watching Billy walk back to work, eyes covered by sunglasses again but smile still visible. Billy lingered on the pavement, suddenly wanting to turn away from the direction of work and walk right back to him. But Goodnight just lifted his hand pretending it was a telephone, and wiggled it jokingly by his ear mouthing ‘call me’. Billy let out a huff of laughter and nodded at him. And then he turned away and walked back to work, a normally tensing action suddenly not seeming so bad.

 

*

 

Goodnight smiled as he watched Billy go. And when Billy rounded the corner and disappeared into the sunlight, Goodnight let himself lean back against the wall, smile getting even dopier. God what that man did to him…

 

What were the odds that they would have met? And what were the odds that _this_ would have happened between them? Goodnight was having a little trouble believing this was his life at the moment. Billy felt like the kind of dream that Goodnight had always wanted but never had a chance to get.

 

But as dreamlike and unbelievable as he was, Billy was still a person. Goodnight felt walloped over the head by the sheer force of Billy’s personhood every time they were together. Goodnight didn’t think he’d ever met anyone with the same forthright blend of vitality and vulnerability in this life. Billy was such an overwhelming quilt of contrasts that Goodnight didn’t think he could learn everything there was to learn about Billy Rocks and the way he switched between ornery and open one minute, reticent to relaxed the next. He was a person with his own wants too, and by some stroke of dumb, miraculous luck, Goodnight happened to be one of those things he wanted. And every encounter with him had Goodnight fairly walking on air.

 

Getting his grin back under control, Goodnight strolled down the streets of the Vegas strip, looking around the crowds, feeling somewhat benevolent towards humanity in general at the moment. But not so benevolent that he forgot himself or his job. Ever since he’d left Bogue’s office the first time he’d been careful to keep an eye out for anyone potentially following him. Goodnight had been doing this a long time and he wasn’t so naïve to think a man like Bogue would team up with someone without checking him out first. So he’d stuck deeply in character the first few days, pretending like he was never aware of the plainclothes casino detective following him. But in turn, that detective was never aware of Red following _him_ , who’d given Goodnight a heads up when Bogue finally called his watchdogs off of ‘Orson Calloway’, satisfied that he was who he said he was.

 

But Goodnight knew that someone like Bogue would probably want to have blackmail on someone before allowing them access. In this business, squeaky clean set off more alarms than a little crooked. So just for good measure Goodnight had left a fictional trail towards a fictional woman and young son in Reno, who Orson Calloway’s wife would certainly not want to find out about. Goodnight had even gotten Vasquez to include records of ghost-payments to the fictional mistress on all of his bank statements. Incriminating enough to satisfy Bogue, but not so incriminating that he wouldn’t want to work with Goodnight’s character.

 

Humming to himself, Goodnight continued his path down the streets, looing around the glittering buildings appreciatively, feeling somewhat like a tourist. He didn’t have anywhere to be yet. He and Sam were seeing Faraday later that night so he could walk them through how to trigger the vault bomb, but that wouldn’t be until much later. So Goodnight strode under the sunshine, feeling like he was walking on it at the same time.

 

He was so caught up in his airy good mood he almost didn’t hear the voice behind him saying:

 

“Excuse me, sir? I think you dropped this?”

 

He turned to see a young black woman in a cobalt blue sundress who was smiling at Goodnight. She was in her early twenties but seemed to carry herself with more self-possession than Goodnight had at that age. And in her hands was a silk handkerchief that could have come from Goodnight.

 

“Well that’s very kind of you,” Goodnight said taking it from her. “I don’t suppose I could buy you a coffee in thanks, could I?”

 

“That would be nice,” she said. Goodnight didn’t see any more cafés in the immediate area, but there was a bar just around the corner, pretty empty for this time of day. He led them inside, looking around to check the place. And when he didn’t see anyone he turned back to her with a huge delighted grin, holding out his arms.

 

“Ava Chisolm, hell if you don’t get more gorgeous every time I see you.”

 

She laughed and jumped into his arms and he spun her around, dropping her heels back to the floor with a kiss to the cheek.

 

“Let’s get a look a look at you, sweetheart, good lord that’s a pretty colour on you.”

 

“You say that about every colour.”

 

“Maybe because I can’t get your hideous brother to wear anything other than black.” And then he looked her up and down and groaned.

 

“Good lord, please don’t tell me you’re taller than me now. I was hoping this day would never come.”

 

“I think we’re about the same, so you’re safe for now,” she said with a grin. “Until I put on heels.”

 

“Well it’s a good thing you’re still a gangly ten year old who still asks me for piggybacks and who would _never_ wear heels,” he said severely.

 

“Oh no, never,” she echoed dryly, but the amused glint of her dark eyes betrayed her deadpan tone, her brother’s sister through and through.

 

“Oh here, your handkerchief, madame,” Goodnight said, passing her back the kerchief she’d used as an excuse to talk to him. One of only many signals people could use to approach cons if they weren’t sure how deep undercover they were. And with a brother like Sam Chisolm, naturally she knew them all.

 

“I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure if I should be yelling ‘Goodnight Robicheaux’ across the strip when I saw you,” she said, tying the bandana into her hair.

 

“Good thinking,” he said. And then he laughed out of nowhere, just delighted to be seeing her again for the first time in a year. He’d stayed largely in California so he wouldn’t be too far if she needed him while Sam was in jail. But in the past year she’d been so busy finishing her law degree and various projects that she and Goodnight hadn’t spoken much beyond the occasional email. Goodnight was glad she was busy. It meant she was doing well.

 

“Well have a seat, sweetheart. Let me get you a drink.”

 

The waiter came by to take their orders, and before Goodnight could open his mouth she was already ordering Goodnight’s preferred beer, and getting the same for herself.

 

“I suppose I need to accept that you’re over twenty-one and the gates of liquor, luck, and larceny lie fully open before you if you so choose,” Goodnight said with a theatrical sigh. “Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in Vegas?”

 

“Here with some friends from school for a vacation,” she said giving him a grin that gleamed white in her glowing dark face. “Our early graduation present to ourselves.”

 

“Yes, this summer’s the big day, isn’t it?” Goodnight said feeling proud although he had absolutely nothing to do with her academic accomplishments. “I’ve already picked out your present by the way.”

 

“Ooh what is it?” she asked lighting up.

 

“Bad luck to tell you,” Goodnight said. “But I can tell you that it’s sparkly and currently at Tiffany’s just waiting for me to go in and get it.”

 

She was suddenly looking at him suspiciously.

 

“You mean go in and _buy_ it, don’t you?” she asked him pointedly.

 

“Didn’t I say that?” Goodnight asked with faux-innocence.

 

“No you did not.”

 

Goodnight laughed, abandoning his teasing of her. “Of course I’m buying it. Nothing but legit for you on your special day.”

 

“Well good,” she said with a laugh. “Because starting off one’s career as a criminal lawyer wearing a stolen necklace seems to hold a slight conflict of interest.”

 

“You let Sam pay for your entire stint in law school with stolen money,” Goodnight said incredulously.

 

“That’s not illegal,” she said innocently as the bartender set their beers down. “And I do have my principles, but they’re not worth as much as student loans.”

 

She winked at Goodnight who burst out laughing.

 

“Ava Chisolm, you’ll be knocking ‘em dead in the courtoom.”

 

“I’ll drink to that,” she said with a grin and they clinked glasses of foamy golden beer.

 

Goodnight watched her nose scrunch as she wiped some foam off her lip, suddenly feeling a clench in his chest at how childish the gesture was in contrast to how much of a young woman she’d clearly become. She used to do the same thing with chocolate milk. How fast they grow.

 

“So tell me about how law school’s finishing up,” Goodnight said. “You must be beating off job offers with a stick, no?”

 

Ava launched into her plans for the summer, describing the different law firms she was considering, and Goodnight watched her with a smile. He was listening, but he couldn’t help the way his mind wandered back to summers in Wichita, sitting at a linoleum table in a bright kitchen, blueprints and children’s fingerpaintings all jumbled together. He remembered the first time he’d met Sam’s family, and how Sam hadn’t been kidding when he said he had a ‘kid sister’. Hearing Ava talk about her upcoming projects now felt almost like being back at that same table, helping her glue pictures onto Bristol boards, the sounds Sam making grilled cheese in the background.

 

“…my old advisor says I’m welcome back at RC Legal anytime, that she’d hire me the second I graduated. But I honestly think I’d like a proper holiday first, and –”

 

“Hang on,” Goodnight said, snapping back to the present. He looked across the table at Ava, her beer mostly full as she’d been doing most of the talking. “When did you work at RC Legal?”

 

“My second internship,” she said frowning. “Not for long though, I got permission to switch firms halfway through.”

 

Goodnight stared at her, some tiny elements of this job beginning to flicker vaguely on the horizon, mingled together with memories of the past.

 

“That would have been around the same time your apartment was robbed, wasn’t it?” he asked her carefully. When she didn’t answer he lowered his voice. “Wasn’t it?”

 

Ava reached for her glass but Goodnight stopped her by placing his hand over hers.

 

“Ava…is there anything you’re not telling me?”

 

Her large dark eyes flicked up to his defiantly.

 

“Not so fun having to be the one to ask that question, is it?”

 

Goodnight still remembered her saying those exact same words to Sam, a teenager with as many smarts as frustrations and who knew her brother was up to _something_ even if she didn’t know what. It was Goodnight who’d convinced Sam to tell her what they did when she was fifteen.

 

 _“She’s too smart, Sammy,”_ he’d said all those years ago. _“She’ll find out from you or she’ll find out by herself, but she’ll find out either way. And if you ever want her to trust you then it’s gotta come from you.”_

 

He just looked at her without saying a word until she finally sighed.

 

“I didn’t want to worry you. It _really_ wasn’t a big deal. But basically I was placed on a team of interns who were all specializing in criminal law. We were there to help the firm with research on someone they were investigating, this Vegas bigshot.”

 

“Bart Bogue,” Goodnight said through the horrible feeling rising in his gut.

 

“Yeah,” she said with another frown. “How did you know?”

 

“I know about Bogue,” he said shortly. “Go on.”

 

“They warned us he was dangerous but the other interns and I were pretty low on the ladder for that investigation. Probably did more photocopies than research anyways.”

 

She bit her lip and Goodnight could practically see her shoulders shift as she steeled herself.

 

“But one night I went back to the dorms and…and there were two people in my apartment.”

 

Goodnight didn’t know what his face did but Ava looked alarmed by it, and she leaned forward to look at him earnestly.

 

“ _Nothing_ happened. One just covered my mouth, the other asked if I was listening, and when I nodded yes he told me to stop helping with the case or they’d come back.”

 

She shrugged. “And that was _it_. I wasn’t the only one, the same thing happened with all the other interns on my team.”

 

A muscle in Goodnight’s jaw was twitching, and he could _feel_ the rage beginning to rush up through his ears, colouring the world red. He took a deep breath, and then another, and looked down at the table with his jaw clenched.

 

“Goddamit,” he hissed, but not at her.

 

He swallowed and got himself somewhat back together.

 

“Then what,” he said tersely.

 

“Well we told the firm what happened. The woman in charge of us was shocked, said she never thought they’d go after interns, and she dismissed us. ‘For our own safety’, was what she said.” Ava looked displeased but continued. “She got us all placed at different firms, gave us each a great reference, and we were transferred. But I wanted to stay, finish what we’d started. I argued with her a _lot_. Said I wasn’t scared, said I’d been around criminals before, that my family knew people and…”

 

She looked somewhat guilty. “It’s possible I might have run my mouth a little.”

 

“We have that in common,” Goodnight said in a daze. “Go on.”

 

“She did hear me out, but she said it wasn’t worth my life. I thought she was being dramatic, I said a lawsuit wouldn’t come to that. But then her husband…he was the main litigator on the case. Super nice guy. Like a Rottweiler in the courtroom but you wouldn’t think it to look at him. Well turns out he actually got beat up by this guy’s people. And he didn’t make it.”

 

Ava sighed. “She and I kept in touch, but I don’t know if she kept trying to go after him. But I guess not. I’d have heard about it if she got him.”

 

Goodnight let out a long breath. His moment of blinding rage had caught him off guard. It took a _lot_ to get him genuinely angry. Sometimes he wished he got angry more. In some ways he felt it would have helped with more than a few of the issues he had. But this news had certainly done it.

 

But the urge to punch a hole through the nearest wall had mostly dissipated, and he reminded himself that this didn’t have anything to do with him right now. So he looked up at Ava as gently as he could.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Because I _knew_ you and Sam would do something stupid!” she burst out. “Sam was still in jail, and I didn’t want you guys to do something idiotic like try to break him out so you could ‘avenge me’ or whatever.”

 

“Prison breaks aren’t _that_ hard,” Goodnight said automatically.

 

“Goody.”

 

“No, really, sweetheart, you asked me to help you install a new security system because you got broken into by some campus jewelry thief!”

 

“We had one at the time,” she said petulantly. “It could have been true.”

 

He sighed and looked at her straight. “Ava, rule number one in Sam and mine’s business that it wouldn’t hurt you to follow either: you can’t play your friends like marks.”

 

Her jaw had been set in lawyer-mode until then, but seeing the disappointment in Goodnight’s face had her flickering back into the posture of someone who was with family.

 

“I’m sorry. But…but I didn’t want to tell you because I was _scared_.”

 

She said the word like she was embarrassed by it, and Goodnight felt his heart clench. He knew all about the shame of fear, and the instinct to isolate yourself.

 

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said.

 

“No it’s not!” she burst out. “You and Sam do scary stuff all the time and make it look easy. And I wanted to stay and keep working there but had to be sent off like I’m still some kid, and… and the worst part is, I was _relieved!_ How am I supposed to be a criminal lawyer if I let that kind of stuff scare me?”

 

“Ava, I’m scared shitless of everything,” Goodnight said with a hollow laugh. “And Sam is scared too, but he’s scared for _you_. If you think were not scared of anything, well then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

 

She looked at him for a while before a sad smile started tugging at the corner of her mouth.

 

“I don’t need a pysch degree to know why I went into law after my undergrad,” she said. “You and Sam always kept me separate from all that stuff to protect me, but all I ever wanted to do was help. And if you guys wouldn’t let me help you, maybe there were some other people who would.”

 

Goodnight huffed out a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart you help us plenty by staying safe.”

 

But that just made Ava look annoyed.

 

“Ah yes, so I’m still supposed to stay home with my books while the grownups take care of everything, is that it?”

 

“When you were a teenager, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do,” he said firmly. “And us not telling you everything wasn’t because we didn’t respect you. Sam respecting you was why he told you about what we do in the first place.”

 

Ava looked down and Goodnight put his hand over hers again.

 

“And just for the record, switching internships didn’t make you a coward. It means you were doing what you had to do in order to get the job you wanted. If you were a coward you would have left the profession altogether. Point A to point B isn’t always a straight line, sugar.”

 

He leaned forward.

 

“You’re going to be a _terrifying_ lawyer when you graduate. But until then all you can do is keep your head down, work hard, play the game long enough to get a proper footing, and _then_ you unleash hell. Got that?”

 

Ava looked back up at him, her lips twitching.

 

“You’ve been practicing that speech, haven’t you?”

 

Goodnight rolled his eyes but he laughed. “Christ you remind me of your brother sometimes. Neither of you appreciates good advice when you get it.”

 

“I do appreciate it,” she said in a quieter voice than her normal. Goodnight squeezed her hand.

 

They stayed a while longer talking about normal things this time. Goodnight was enjoying talking with the person she’d become, not just his memory of the kid she used to be. It had been hard on Sam to not see her become an adult, but she’d grown up well. They’d all have plenty of time together again.

 

Eventually she said she had to go meet her friends and he helped her to her feet, something occurring to him.

 

“By the way, Ava…does Sam know what happened?”

 

“No,” she said. “But I’m going to tell him after I graduate, I promise, so _please_ don’t tell him before then, okay? The only person I told about it was my advisor at the firm.”

 

“Right. Remind me what her name was?”

 

“Emma Cullen,” she replied.

 

“Right,” Goodnight said nodding. “Well enjoy the rest of your vacation, sweetheart. When do you go back to school?”

 

“Sunday.”

 

“Sure. Oh and Ava?”

 

When she looked back at him he shrugged rather sheepishly.

 

“Maybe don’t go to The Gold Rush while you’re here.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said dryly. And then she squinted at him and sighed.

 

“You're already planning something, aren't you?” with an exasperated kind of resignation.

 

He kissed her cheek. “Become my lawyer and then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said with mock severity. And then she smiled and stepped forward and Goodnight wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

 

After she left the bar Goodnight sat back down at their table, tapping his fingers on its surface, thinking hard. He asked the bartender for a water, and took a pen out of his breast pocket, sliding a paper napkin towards him. And he started jotting down a timeline:

 

  1. Ava Chisolm gets intimidated by Bogue’s people
  2. Tells Emma Cullen. Hints at having criminal contacts, possibly in the family. Emma sits on the info
  3. Matthew Cullen gets killed
  4. Emma decides to go after Bogue. Remembers Ava Chisolm is connected to criminals.
  5. Finds identity of Sam Chisolm and writes to him in prison. Uses what happened to Ava as motivation for Sam to help her take Bogue down
  6. Sam decides to go after Bogue and gets out of prison
  7. Sam finds me



 

 

Goodnight stared at the list, tapping his pen against his lips. He took a sip of the water the bartender had brought him, read the list, and read it again. And then he sat back and sighed.

 

It didn’t really change anything at all. Sam had come to see him about a job, and Goodnight had said yes. Goodnight wasn’t surprised Sam would want to try his hand at robbing a casino. Goodnight had put it down to Sam’s usual love of the game, mingled together with a streak of nobility towards Emma’s cause. He just hadn’t expected Sam to have his own personal reasons for it. And he wouldn’t have expected Sam to keep those reasons from Goodnight either.

 

“Oh Sammy,” he muttered, suddenly feeling unaccountably tired. He’d been ready to feel hurt by Sam not telling him his real motives, but he knew Sam well and wasn’t surprised when all was said and done. Sam had always disparaged people who did jobs for revenge, saying they were only playing themselves if they thought it would be enough. Goodnight had heard Sam talk about it a thousand times: people who got into the game for personal reasons were the one most likely to lose focus and get burned.

 

Sam had probably been too embarrassed to tell Goody he had personal reasons for wanting to do this job. Because God forbid Sam be anything other than the most professional, commanding and controlled man in the room. Goddamn Chisolms and their pride.

 

Emma however…now there was a cool customer if there ever was one, Goodnight thought wryly. He had wondered how she found Sam in prison but figured it had to do with her contacts as a criminal lawyer. But turns out she’d heard about Sam from his sister. And had then told Sam what had happened to Ava as incentive for Sam to join her cause. Not strictly unethical, and no harm done, Goodnight supposed. Certainly Sam didn’t seem to mind her methods. But certainly a sign of an unflinching, single-minded personality if Goodnight had ever met one.

 

Well. If Ava was going to learn about being a lawyer from Emma Cullen, Goodnight supposed she could do a lot worse.

 

Strange to think about how no one was ever what they seemed, no matter what business they were in. Emma, the stalwart keeper of justice, willing to go corrupt just to uphold it; Billy who was so stoic and self-deprecating about being betrayed because the alternative was to admit that it hurt. Then there was Ava Chisolm, so strong and accomplished that she thought being scared somehow negated all that. Then there was Goodnight himself, so good-natured that the depth of his grief surprised even _him_ sometimes. And finally there was Sam, so cool on the surface, that no one would suspect just how much fire burned inside him.

 

It wasn’t a black and white world, and Goodnight knew that. And he didn’t need to work in a duplicitous business to know that no matter what armour you chose, there were only shades of grey inside them all.

 

His phone rang, startling him. Johnny Cash’s ‘Man in Black.’ He stared at the phone for a moment before picking it up.

 

“Sammy.”

 

“Hey. You still downtown?”

 

“Yep, why?”

 

“Can you stop by the store and get some copper wire before you come back to the house?”

 

“Sure, how much?”

 

“Four hundred yards should do it.”

 

“Four h- _why_?”

 

“Faraday has an idea.”

 

“The four most terrifying words you’ve ever said.”

 

“Tell me about it. You alright by the way?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“You sound weird.”

 

“I’ve barely said anything.”

 

“Yeah that’s the weird part.”

 

“Maybe I’m full of terror at the thought of Faraday with even more wiring than he already has.”

 

“You and me both. You still good for seven?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys then.”

 

“Alright. And thanks by the way.”

 

Goodnight stared at the sixth bullet point on his list. ‘Sam finds me’. It had never failed to be true, not ever and certainly not now.

 

“Anytime, Sam.”

 

He hung up, resolving not to bring it up what he’d learned about Ava until Sam did. If Sam wanted to act like the very essence of detached professionalism until this job was over, then that was what he needed. Sam had already given Goodnight more dignity than Goodnight deserved. Goodnight could at least do the same for him.

 

Goodnight rolled up the napkin and stuck it into his water glass, the paper jumbling some of the melting ice cubes. And he stayed there in the booth and watched until the clear icy water drew out tendrils of inky black that floated to the bottom of the glass, colouring the water grey.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

Goody leaned back against the bar with his fresh drink, stirring it aimlessly as he looked around the upper floor of the restaurant. They had rented out the whole place and were the only ones there, but were somehow still making more than enough noise to fill the whole place.

 

He watched Red and Faraday in one corner, Faraday being predictably expansive, his typical wide gestures seeming even more animated beside Red’s still, almost statue-like presence, utterly stoic except for his eyeroll and faint smile as Faraday reached the end of his punchline. Then in the middle of the room stood Billy and Horne, Billy sipping on his gin as he listened to Horne who was engaging him in his normal friendly demeanor. If Goodnight had to guess they were probably discussing what it was like working in a casino. Billy was listening quietly but when Horne said something Billy presumably didn’t agree with, Goodnight saw Billy’s eyebrows bunch before launching into a list of reasons why Horne was wrong. Horne looked as caught off guard as Goodnight had felt the first time he’d seen how impressively Billy could rant, but he was quickly throwing his head back and laughing at whatever Billy was saying.

 

Then in the opposite corner stood Sam, Vasquez, and – to the rest of the team’s surprise – Emma Cullen. When Sam had walked in with her and introduced her as the woman behind their plan, everyone had looked surprised but delighted, quickly fighting each other off to see who could get her in a conversation first.

 

She and Vasquez were now animatedly arguing about something while Sam listened, for all intents and purposes absorbed in his drink, but Goodnight didn’t miss the way his eyes kept sliding over to Emma and softening as he watched her. Goodnight watched his oldest friend with a smirk. Yeah, he was pretty sure Sam was sweet on her, but he knew Sam was unlikely to make a move anytime soon, not after what had happened to her husband. Goodnight would leave him be and refrain from teasing him about his crush. At least for now.

 

It was a strange crew but miraculously everyone seemed to be getting along, or at the very least, tolerating each other. The job was the day after next, and normally Goodnight would be tensing up at this point. But looking around at the team Sam had assembled, he couldn’t help but have a good feeling about this one. And any nerves he felt were the good kind…more like stagefright than anything else.

 

Red had abandoned Faraday in order to go to the bar, and Goodnight took a sip and wandered over to join their demolitions man. Sam had assured him that Faraday had mellowed out since the last time they’d all done a job together, and Goodnight grudgingly had to agree. He and Faraday had had a bit of a blowout the last time they’d worked together, and the less said about that the better. But Faraday had been engaging for the entire job, his intel as both undercover casino dealer and explosives expert proving to be invaluable to them, and Goodnight had no complaints about his presence.

 

“How’re you holding up?” Goodnight asked him.

 

“Swell,” Faraday said, taking a sip of his practically fluorescent drink, eyes on the corner where Emma, Vasquez, and Sam were still talking.

 

“I keep forgetting to tell you, but your bomb is good,” Goodnight said sincerely. “For the vault. Really good.”

 

“Hmm?” Faraday asked, tearing his eyes away from the corner. “Oh. Well thank you kindly, Robicheaux.”

 

He'd said it with exaggerated politeness, but he didn’t sound mocking, even smiling a bit at Goodnight.

 

“What the hell are you drinking?” Goodnight asked before it got too awkward. Whatever it was it was tall and pink and fruity and ridiculous looking.

 

“I’d tell you, but its contents would shock you,” Faraday drawled.

 

Goodnight snorted. “I’ll bet.” He resisted the urge to tell Faraday to go easy on the cocktails. Goodnight remembered him as a pretty heavy drinker the last time they’d worked together, but Faraday was a grown man now and would be certain to bristle or feel judged by Goodnight. Goodnight wasn’t sure why he always seemed to rub Faraday the wrong way, but they’d gotten along fine this job and he wasn’t about to test his luck.

 

“Any plans for your share?” Faraday asked him.

 

“None I’m revealing,” Goodnight said.

 

“Just asking,” Faraday said testily, and Goodnight glanced over in surprise before realizing how it sounded.

 

“I just mean it’s bad luck to say out loud,” he said apologetically. “Last time I started planning what to do with money before I had it, Sam was being arrested in front of me not even five minutes later. So you know…just staying on the safe side.”

 

Goodnight looked towards where Billy was still talking with Horne, and felt a smile coming on. He didn’t really have any concrete plans anyways, not unless ‘spoiling Billy rotten’ counted as a plan.

 

“Still a superstitious bastard, aren’t you?” Faraday asked.

 

“What, you’re not?” Goodnight asked.

 

“Nah,” Faraday said, grinning around his drink. “Just the regular kind of bastard.”

 

Goodnight laughed, glancing around the room again, and then back at Faraday. His eyes were still fixed on Emma, Vasquez and Sam. Vasquez said something to Emma who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh despite herself. Faraday’s mouth tightened, looking for all the world like he was jealous.

 

“Not that I’m trying to gossip or anything, but fair warning, if you’re thinking of making a move I believe Sam has already got his sights set there,” Goodnight said, not unsympathetically. Mrs. Cullen was a gorgeous woman and if Faraday was taken with her, Goodnight certainly couldn’t blame him.

 

“ _Really?”_ Faraday practically squawked, wheeling his head around to look at Goodnight alarmed. “You’re kidding me.”

 

Personally Goodnight thought this was an overreaction.

 

“Well they’ve been working together for a while now, and I’m pretty sure they get along,” Goodnight said.

 

Faraday still looked taken aback.

 

“I totally thought Sam was straight,” he said, lowering his voice.

 

“Wait who are you talking about?” Goodnight asked him.

 

“Who are _you_ talking about?” Faraday shot back.

 

Goodnight stared at him and then looked back at the corner, this time looked past Emma to where Vasquez was still being his usual charming self, and then back to Faraday, and then almost burst out laughing as things suddenly became clear.

 

“Nothing,” Goodnight said clapping Faraday on the shoulder, more delighted than he was letting on. “My mistake, forget I said anything. Go for it.”

 

He excused himself and walked across the room to join Sam, still grinning. He walked past Vasquez who had been heading towards Faraday, and Goodnight glanced back at them amused. He’d be curious to see how that one played out, but if anyone had a snowball’s chance in hell at dealing with Faraday it would definitely be Vasquez and his endless patience.

 

“Emma the Entrancing,” Goodnight said grandly as he walked up to her, kissing her hand. He’d been about to call her ‘Mrs. Cullen’ but she seemed so laidback compared to the other times he’d met her and he didn’t want to make her feel down if he could help it.

 

“Goodnight the…gallant?” she responded.

 

“Excellent choice,” he said beaming at her.

 

“I’m regretting it already.”

 

“What, don’t I get a hello?” Sam asked dryly.

 

“Samuel the Sedate,” Goodnight said with a grin, reaching for Sam’s hand too, but Sam batted him away with an amused eye-roll.

 

“Go get a seat, I think we’re eating soon.”

 

They made their way over to the long table, Goodnight trailing behind on purpose to end up next to Billy who looked at him warmly.

 

“Did I tell you you look absolutely ravishing tonight?” Goodnight murmured to him, making sure to keep his voice low. He was reasonably sure everyone suspected something between them at this point, but he didn’t want to make Billy feel uncomfortable by being _too_ obvious.

 

But Billy didn’t seem uncomfortable at all, judging by the way his mouth curved up and he trailed a finger down the back of Goodnight’s jacket, practically eliciting a full body shudder in Goodnight.

 

“You didn’t have to tell me,” he said, fingers still dancing distractingly down the length of Goodnight’s spine.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Because you have a terrible poker face,” Billy said innocently, dropping his hand.

 

“I do _not_ ,” Goodnight said laughing. “And just for the record I want a rematch.”

 

They went to the table taking seats across from each other. He smiled across the table at Billy who looked radiant, wreathed as he was in the candlelight that flickered warmly around him on the tablecloth. Goodnight couldn’t resist tangling their feet beneath the table, and when Billy rubbed his foot against his, he felt his heart jump. Billy did it again, his eyes a warm, hungry promise, and Goodnight bit back a grin, pretty sure about where the evening was going by the look in Billy’s eyes.

 

Dinner was an exuberant affair with people taking turns holding court, Goodnight feeling particularly buoyed by Billy’s eyes on him, that warm half-smile in his line of vision, seeping under his skin, tangling with his nerves, lighting them up.

 

“…and that reminds me, what were you two talking about when you sat down?” Faraday asked once he’d finished his story, looking between Goodnight and Billy. “Something about a rematch?”

 

“Poker,” Goodnight said around a mouthful of pasta. “Billy here thinks he can beat me.”

 

“Because I already _did_ ,” Billy said pointedly.

 

“Then you must have been playing honestly, hmm, Goodnight?” Horne said where he was seated on Goodnight’s left.

 

“Oh would you let it _go_ already?” Goodnight said laughing. He took a sip of wine and looked at the rest of the table explaing: “He’s still bitter about the fact that once I beat him in a poker tournament.”

 

“Beat me while _cheating_ in a poker tournament.”

 

“I won’t even dignify that with a –”

 

“You and Sam,” Horne declared loudly, “are the biggest couple of card cheats I have ever met in my _life_.”

 

The rest of the table was laughing now, Sam dabbing his mouth, his shoulders shaking. Horne looked back at everyone else.

 

“Sam and Goodnight helped me out with a job once, down in Belize. And I suggested a friendly poker game, hmm? Just a way to pass the time of day.”

 

Horne pointed accusatorily at them both. “Three men around the table, one deck of cards, we show our first hands, and these two? Hand to God, they had about _seven_ aces between them both.”

 

The table burst out laughing, wine almost vibrating in their glasses, and Goodnight even caught Red trying to bite back a grin at Horne’s story.

 

“I’ve never seen such blatant cheating in all my life, I’m telling you,” Horne said wiping his eyes with a laugh. “And then the next week Goodnight and I were in a poker tournament on one of the islands and Goodnight won the whole thing because –”

 

“– because of my own superior skillset –”

 

“ _Because Sam was helping you.”_

Sam and Goodnight practically collapsed on the table laughing while everyone around them lost it again.

 

“You can’t prove a damn thing, Horne,” Sam said sitting up with a wide grin.

 

“Uh huh, uh huh,” Horne said nodding unconvinced. “Sure, I’m crazy, I’m imagining things, I’m going senile, I see how it is.”

 

“Makes sense, I mean you’re what, eighty?” Faraday asked from Goodnight’s other side.

 

“I am just about the same age as Sam, thank you very much,” Horne said pretending to take offense.

 

“Damn, he sure got the better end of that deal, didn’t he?” Vasquez asked with a grin where he was seated next to Billy.

 

“Now don’t you start too, you whippersnapper,” Horne said to Vasquez.

 

“The hell is a ‘whippersnapper?’” Vasquez stage-whispered at Faraday, leaning across the table.

 

“Young smartass,” Faraday explained.

 

“Smartass, sure,” Vasquez said with a laugh as he swirled some wine around in his glass. “But I’m thirty-five, amigo, it’s not _that_ young.”

 

“If you still don’t mind saying it out loud, then it’s young,” Sam said dryly.

 

“Thirty-five? No kidding, I’m thirty-six,” Faraday said to Vasquez. “God, I practically had a midlife crisis when I turned thirty-five.”

 

“I don’t know, thirty-five feels fine so far,” Vasquez said. “It was thirty that freaked me out more.”

 

“I know what you guys mean,” Red said seriously.

 

Everyone turned to stare at him incredulously and he shrugged.

 

“I was really nervous when I turned twenty-five.”

 

There was a collective groan of disgust and Red’s lips twitched.

 

Goodnight refilled his and Billy’s wineglasses, leaning towards Faraday’s which was still empty, but Faraday stopped him.

 

“Nuh uh, wine is for old people. Actually how old even are you, Goodnight?”

 

“Depends which passport I’m using,” Goodnight said with a grin. “But I’m still in my forties, which is all you need to know.”

 

“Really?” Red asked him, eyebrows bunched.

 

“ _Yes_ , really! Wait…how old did you think I am?”

 

“…fifty-two?”

 

“What?” Goodnight squawked while everyone laughed. “You did not.”

 

Billy’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter and Goodnight grinned at him.

 

“What are you laughing at over there? We’re the same goddamn age.”

 

“So you say,” Billy said, eyes twinkling.

 

“What, I look fifty to you?”

 

Billy shrugged.

 

“Only from the neck up.”

 

The table burst out laughing again, this time the laughter coming even harder because it was Billy joining the joke.

 

“Shit, you’re coldblooded, Rocks,” Faraday said through breaths of laughter. “I’m so glad we didn’t decide to set you up.”

 

The laughter in the room seemed to screech to a halt and Goodnight’s eyes flew up to Billy’s face, and _god_ , it was a face he never wanted to see again as long as he lived.

 

Billy’s face had frozen somewhere between laughter and surprise. He opened his mouth uselessly, and once Faraday’s words really hit him every line of his face was coloured through with shocked hurt as he looked right at Goodnight.

 

Goodnight actually felt sick.

 

“Guero…” Vasquez finally said, breaking the silence in a low, warning voice, not in the usual teasing tone he reserved for Faraday.

 

Faraday couldn’t have known about Billy having been set up before, couldn’t have known just _how_ deep his comment would have cut. But he and everyone else must have at least some idea now, because there was Billy sitting there, face drained of all blood, like someone had stuck a knife in him and twisted.

 

But then Billy snapped his mouth closed and just like that his face was like a wall of ice, even worse than it had looked before. His legs had still been tangled with Goodnight’s under the table but he withdrew them.

 

“Shit, Billy…I didn’t mean it like that,” Faraday said in a quieter voice than Goodnight had ever heard on him. He was looking at Billy weakly, searching for words. “We weren’t really gonna. Come on, you should know better than to listen to anything I say, right?”

 

He let out something that might have passed for a weak laugh but it quickly dissolved into the room which still felt like all the air had been sucked out of it.

 

“Yeah,” Billy said in a hollow voice. “I’m gonna…”

 

He put his napkin on the table, moving his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. And nobody said a word as Billy stood up, turned around, and walked right out of the room.

 

Goodnight sat there numb, a block of nausea in his throat. It wasn’t until he heard Sam mutter ‘shit’ at the end of the table that he blinked back to himself.

 

He stood up abruptly to go after Billy, not looking at anyone else.

 

“Goodnight, I’m sorry…” he heard Faraday muttering, and Goodnight wheeled around on him.

 

“Oh could you just grow up and act like a professional for once in your goddamn life?” Goodnight snapped. Faraday looked down and nobody else spoke up. Goodnight threw his napkin down on his chair and left the table.

 

“Fix it, Goody,” Sam said behind him.

 

“Yeah no shit, Sam,” Goodnight growled, stalking out of the room.

 

He hurried down the carpeted steps, the force of his steps practically causing tremors in the chandeliers on the ceiling, because he needed to get down there, needed to stop –

 

“Billy!”

 

Billy had his coat on and one hand on the door’s gold knocker.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight breathed out, relieved to have caught him. He stopped behind Billy, catching his breath.

 

“Is it true?” Billy asked, not turning around.

 

Goodnight lifted a hand helplessly.

 

“It’s not what you think _._ ”

 

“Oh really?” Billy said, hand still on the door. “Because it sounds like you guys had a plan to set me up from the very beginning.”

 

He wheeled around with his jaw set at Goodnight and Goodnight realized with a pang that Billy’s hands were shaking in rage

 

“ _No_ , my god, not at all,” Goodnight said desperately taking a step towards Billy. “It was just some dumbshit thing Faraday said, and only because he didn’t know who you were. He thought we were gonna use you as a fall guy, but the second Sam explained who you were he dropped it. There was never any _plan_!”

 

“Well why not?” Billy spat out. “I mean it’s not a bad idea. You guys sure as shit wouldn’t be the first to do it to me.”

 

Goodnight wasn’t sure but in this light it looked like Billy’s eyes were red and his heart clenched at the sight.

 

“Jesus Billy, of course we weren’t, it was just _one_ comment, and it got thrown out the second it came up! I swear to god that was _never_ part of this job!”

 

“You expect me to believe that?” Billy asked incredulously, voice raised.

 

“ _Yes!_ ” Goodnight said insistently.

 

Billy was looking at him silently and Goodnight pressed on.

 

“Come on, you know us well enough by now, do you really think that’s the kind of thing Sam would do?” Goodnight looked at Billy earnestly, lowering his voice. “That I would do?”

 

“I don’t really know what to think,” Billy said tightly. “Look, I…I gotta go. I need to think.”

 

“Billy wait!” Goodnight said, and Billy froze halfway out the door.

 

Goodnight had hated himself a lot over the years. But he’d never hated himself more than in this moment where he swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut, already regretting what he knew he had to ask, which was:

 

“What about the job?”

 

Billy stared at him in disbelief and Goodnight looked back helplessly. And then Billy clenched his jaw shut.

 

“Go fuck yourself.”

 

And with that he turned around, and walked right out.

 

 

*****

 

Faraday got out of the van back at the house. It had been an absolutely unbearable drive, sitting awkwardly in the back of the van with Horne and Sam. Horne had given Faraday what might have been a sympathetic look at one point, but Sam had stared stonily out the tinted black windows the entire drive.

 

Faraday felt almost overwhelmed by guilt. He had _nothing_ against Rocks. He hadn’t meant a damn thing by that stupidass comment, hadn’t been thinking at all when he said it. He could admit it was a dumb as hell, unnecessary thing to say, but he couldn’t have possibly have predicted that Rocks would have looked _that_ hurt. Ninety-nine percent of the time the guy was even more pokerfaced than Red.

 

And Goodnight…Faraday had never heard the normally affable conman sound so venomous as when he’d snapped at Faraday. Goodnight probably had a low enough of opinion of Faraday already from the last time they’d worked together, and Faraday deserved it too. That had been another fine example of Faraday’s mouth running away with him, needling somebody, not knowing just how deep his comments were going to cut.

 

Faraday had honestly changed since then. Had been working hard to get back into some people’s good graces, including his own. But much like everything else he did, he couldn’t seem to stop sabotaging himself at every turn, and bringing other people down with him too.

 

“Okay, team,” Sam said once they’d all piled out of the van, Red and Vasquez climbing out of the front seats. “Let’s start packing up everything we need for Friday and bringing it to the hotel so that it’s already there for the job.”

 

The rest of them stared at each other except for Faraday who was leaning against the van, arms crossed, looking at the floor of the garage.

 

“Can we even do the job without Billy?” Horne asked uncertainly.

 

“Yeah, I mean is the job still even on?” Vasquez said.

 

Goodnight hadn’t come back after going after Billy. They’d waited but after Sam still hadn’t heard from him they’d all filed out to head back to the house. Sam had called a cab for Emma which she’d gotten into, although not before giving Faraday the most scathing look he’d ever received in his life.

 

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “But until we know for sure we’re gonna act as though it is.”

 

The firmness in his voice left no room for argument, and they ambled slowly to different sections of the garage to start packing things up. Faraday’s things were already at the hotel, and he looked around at the others. He felt like a world class heel, not to mention embarrassed as hell when he’d gotten into the van with the rest of them, no one looking at him, like Faraday was the nuisance kid someone had brought along who no one wanted to deal with.

 

But Faraday steeled himself and walked over to Red who was was closest, to help him collect his tools.

 

“I got it,” Red said, picking up a box before Faraday could give him a hand.

 

“Oh don’t you start,” Faraday muttered.

 

“I’m not,” Red said. “I’m just saying I’ve got it.” He walked over to the van with the box, and he wasn’t treating Faraday any differently than normal, and somehow it made Faraday feel even worse.

 

Sam had trailed to the door of the garage where he’d had his phone to his ear, presumably to call Goodnight or maybe give Billy a try. But he seemed to be unsuccessful, hanging up the phone, lips tight. Faraday wasn’t looking forward to this, but he squared his shoulders and went over.

 

“Sam,” he said, and Sam turned around to look at him impassively. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sam stared at him hard, Faraday forcing himself to meet Sam’s eyes, hoping he looked as sincere as he felt.

 

He must have because Sam sighed, his features softening minutely.

 

“I know you are,” Sam said. “But sorry doesn’t split seven ways.”

 

“Yeah,” Faraday said, looking back down.

 

“Christ, Josh, what were you thinking?” Sam said, and Faraday felt pierced by guilt all over again. Sam had been nothing but decent to him for as long as Faraday had known him. And if there was one person in the world whose opinion he gave a shit about it was Sam Chisolm’s.

 

“I wasn’t,” Faraday mumbled, which was true. It had just been a throwaway comment. But Faraday should have known by now that sometimes his offhand comments had a way of working right under people’s skin whether he meant them to or not.

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam scoffed. And then he sighed saying: “Look, why don’t you head back to the hotel. I’m pretty sure we can cover the rest.”

 

“Can’t I do anything?” Faraday asked uncertainly.

 

“Think you’ve done enough for one night,” Sam said dryly before going back into the garage, leaving Faraday feeling just about as bad as he’d ever felt in his life.

 

He stood against the door of the garage. Part of him wanted to head right to his jeep, drive away from his guilt, but the part of him that wanted to confirm how much he didn’t belong anywhere looked back into the garage where everyone was busy packing up.

 

Years ago Faraday might have muscled his way back into the garage, trying to give a hand out of spite, proving his worth, even if it meant annoying everyone to do it. But he knew just how well that would go down right about now. And so Faraday stood on the fringes, looking at the people he’d come to actually enjoy working with over the past few weeks, resigning himself to the fact that none of them would probably ever want to work with him again.

 

He was about to turn away and head back to his jeep when a voice said:

 

“Got a light?”

 

Vasquez was standing there rolling a cigarette between his fingers, eyebrows raised expectantly at Faraday. Relieved to be of _some_ kind of use to someone, Faraday reached into his pocket for his lighter, the lucky shamrock printed on it almost seeming to mock him. He flicked it on and Vasquez bent down to light up, breathing in the smoke.

 

“You know…” he started to say. Faraday glanced over at him and Vasquez shrugged.

 

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Vasquez said simply, taking another puff of smoke.

 

“You ever make the hundred and fifty million dollar kind of mistake?” Faraday mumbled hollowly.

 

Vasquez made a sound that might have been a tired huff of a laugh.

 

“Guess not.”

 

Faraday stood there with Vasquez smoking silently next to him, and Faraday couldn’t speak for Vasquez but the space between them seemed full of unspoken things. Yeah there’d been a hint of…something before. Something that might have been Vasquez flirting with him. Faraday had almost managed to convince himself it was just Vasquez messing with him. And anyways, they’d all been so busy during this last week that it was easy to let the thought go, to keep their normal dynamic, Faraday telling himself that he’d figure it out what the deal was with them _after_ the job.

 

Now he didn’t even know if there would be a job at all. And the whole ride back to the house he’d sat in the van certain that everyone in it, Vasquez included, wouldn’t want to have a thing to do with him anymore.

 

But it didn’t appear to be the case now, not the way Vasquez was watching Faraday almost sympathetically when Faraday glanced over. Faraday quickly looked away, his heavily-armoured heart picking up almost imperceptibly. Sometimes Vasquez had a way of looking at everyone like he could see everything they were, and it made Faraday feel on edge around him while somehow feeling pulled closer to him at the same time.

 

“Hey, guero…” Vasquez started to say. And Faraday looked back over at Vasquez who was holding his cigarette, its burning tip glinting gold in his eyes, looking at Faraday while biting his lip. Faraday wanted to ask him what he was looking at but found his mouth had gone dry.

 

“Vasquez,” came Sam’s voice from somewhere back in the garage, cutting between them. “Come give me a hand with this.”

 

Vasquez glanced over his shoulder, and then looked back at Faraday a bit regretfully. But he sighed and took another drag of the cigarette.

 

“Try not to wallow all night, guero,” Vasquez said flicking some ash to the floor. “Doesn’t suit you.”

 

And with that he placed his cigarette between Faraday’s lips and loped back into the garage leaving Faraday staring after him, the cigarette dangling uselessly from his lips which had parted in surprise.

 

He raised a hand to steady the cigarette, sucking in a lungful of smoke instinctively. His head was still spinning from the intimacy of the motion, but the smoke seemed to calm it. He stole another glance at Vasquez who was helping Sam separate some cables. And then he turned away and walked slowly to where their cars were parked.

 

He didn’t _want_ this to be the last time he ever worked with Vasquez. He might not have known exactly where they stood with each other, but he knew he didn’t want it to end like _this_. Not with a dumbass comment, a half-finished cigarette, and a heart full of maybes.

 

He climbed into his jeep, resolving himself to what he had to do if he wanted to keep this job going. He might not have been allowed to give anyone here a hand, so he’d go. But he’d take Vasquez’s advice. He wasn’t going to wallow either.

 

And taking a determined puff of smoke from Vasquez’s cigarette, Faraday put the car into gear and drove away.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Billy stood outside the hotel room, his hand hovering over the door. He was feeling a mixture of emotions. He dropped his hand and paced in front of the door. He _wanted_ to knock on it, he wanted to so much, but taking that next step would be to open himself up even more than he already had. And opening up was what had caused him to hurt so much in the first place.

 

But opening up had also let these past weeks be some of the best he’d had in his life. They hadn’t been easy, but every last bit of uncertainty had been worth it.

 

Billy didn’t even know if he’d still be welcome in. But he took in a breath and walked back up to the room, knocking determinedly on the door.

 

He heard movement inside, someone slowly making there way to the door. There was a pause, presumably while they looked through the peephole. And there was a clattering of a lock and Goodnight opened the door, staring at Billy.

 

“Hi,” he said carefully, looking somewhat surprised to see Billy there, but it was dampened by how tired his eyes looked. He was still in his clothes from dinner but they were rumpled. Billy instantly wanted to smooth them out but he didn’t know where they stood.

 

“Can I come in?” Billy asked.

 

Goodnight nodded and opened the door wider and Billy stepped in.

 

“Nice room,” he said, looking around the large suite that Bogue had provided for him, the soft lighting casting the whole room in gold.

 

Goodnight shrugged. “Probably the same as yours.”

 

“Yeah, not so much,” Billy said dryly. Billy did live in a hotel room at the casino but it was one of the smallest ones available, and a Spartan one at that. His suits got sent out to hotel dry-cleaning, he used hotel toiletries when he showered, and the only sign that someone actually stayed there full-time were the paperbacks he’d accumulated over the years, ones that other people had left behind in their own rooms after checking out. It was a liminal existence, and the only permanent part of it was Billy.

 

He gazed around the room and his eyes fell back on Goody who was standing there and watching Billy looking pained.

 

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the exact same time, and then blinked in surprise.

 

“Why are you sorry?” Goodnight asked him. “You didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

 

“I told you to go fuck yourself,” Billy said uncomfortably, still feeling guilty at the amount of hate he knew had been in his voice at the time.

 

“It’s not like I didn’t deserve it,” Goodnight said quietly, looking down at the room’s plush carpet.

 

“You were just doing your job,” Billy said.

 

“Me just doing my job doesn’t mean it was right,” Goodnight said looking back up, his eyes earnest. “Billy I’m so sorry, and I swear to god we were _never_ planning on setting you up. It was just one dumb conversation that lasted for five seconds, and it was before anyone met you. No one meant anything personal by it.”

 

“I know,” Billy said, and now that he was in a calmer place where he could actually listen, he did know. “I just…I just wish you would’ve said something.”

 

When he’d left the table earlier he’d just imagined everyone around it as having been talking about him behind his back the whole time. He was embarrassed to think he might have been going through this whole period of working with them while thinking of himself as on the same level, while they had been seeing him as the expendable one the entire time.

 

Billy knew that it wasn’t true. None of them, in all of their preparations, had ever given him any sign they saw him as the weakest link. But Billy was so wary in a way that ran so deep, and it was the first thing that had come to his mind. And he’d been blindsided by how hurt he’d felt that there’d been a conversation about cutting him out at all, even if it was one that had gotten rejected.

 

“I’m sorry,” Goody said again. He’d taken a step closer to Billy and was reaching out hesitantly to place a hand on Billy’s arm. “I…I should have realized you might have wanted to know about something like that. But it was just _such_ a non-event. I really didn’t think there was anything to tell.”

 

His eyes were honest and Billy swallowed and nodded. Goodnight’s hand was a steady weight on his elbow, like the warmth of him was spreading out across Billy’s skin. Wanting to feel the rest of him Billy gently nudged Goodnight’s hand to the side, and slid his own arms around Goodnight’s waist, resting his chin on Goodnight’s shoulder, letting out a sigh as he did. He felt Goodnight’s arms go around his back and they stood in the middle of the suite, swaying in a hug, and the relief Billy felt was like having a weight lifted off his entire body.

 

“I should have heard you out,” he mumbled to Goody.

 

“Eh. I talk too much anyways,” Goodnight said with a shrug in Billy’s arms.

 

“I don’t think you talk too much,” Billy said quietly. He felt Goodnight tighten his arms in response and Billy did the same.

 

They drew back slowly, cheeks dragging against each other, the scrape of Goodnight’s beard catching on Billy’s jaw. Goodnight rubbed his arms once soothingly and then stepped away to pour Billy a glass of water, pouring one for himself.

 

“Well at any rate I’m glad you’re here now,” Goodnight said shaking his head, looking somewhat dazed as he handed Billy a glass. “Surprised as I am. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again quite so soon.”

 

“You can blame Faraday,” Billy said as he took a sip.

 

“You bet I can,” Goodnight muttered.

 

“No I mean… you can blame him for me coming here. He came to see me.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Goodnight asked him incredulously.

 

Billy drank some more water and shrugged.

 

“He came to my room. A couple hours after I left you guys. Started banging on the door, hollering for me to let him in.”

 

“You’re kidding,” Goodnight said.

 

“He said if didn’t unlock the door he’d blow the lock up himself.”

 

“Okay that’s more believable,” Goodnight said shaking his head.

 

“He was making such a racket I was worried someone would get suspicious and come along, so I had to let him in,” Billy said. He finished the rest of his glass and set it down on the table, waving off Goodnight’s motion to pour him another.

 

“Well what did he even have to say?” Goodnight asked, eyebrows bunched as he drained his own glass.

 

“Basically what you had already told me. Said it was all his idea, that he was just brainstorming, that he only mentioned setting me up because he hadn’t met me yet and he thought it would be part of the plan anyways,” Billy said.

 

Goodnight nodded and Billy hesitated.

 

“He also said that someone had to bring up the harder ideas in this business, and since he’s the least likely to win any popularity contests, that made him the person who has to say the ideas that no one wants to hear.”

 

Goodnight frowned thoughtfully into his water. Billy watched him thinking, feeling a pull towards him.

 

“He also said…”

 

Goodnight looked up and Billy gazed back at him softly.

 

“He said that you were the first person to shoot him down. That you wouldn’t even hear of setting me up, or let anyone say another word about it. He said you stood up for me.”

 

Billy looked at him almost in disbelief.

 

“No one sticks up for me.”

 

Goodnight looked blindsided by that, but he straightened up determinedly, and took a step towards Billy.

 

“Well I do.”

 

“But _why?_ ” Billy asked him desperately, continuing before Goodnight could open his mouth. “I don’t mean now, or even a couple weeks ago, I mean why then?”

 

Billy was still staring at him disbelievingly. “We didn’t even know each other.”

 

Goodnight was standing in front of him now, looking at Billy with a gaze so intense that Billy was helpless to do anything but look back.

 

“We don’t know each other?” Goodnight asked him quietly. He reached up to cup Billy’s cheek and Billy almost melted into it, running his hands up Goodnight’s chest.

 

“We know each other,” Goodnight murmured, his lips almost tickling Billy’s. And even without the quiet conviction in his voice, Billy knew it was true in his very bones. They’d known each other from the moment they’d met.

 

And it was that knowing that caused Billy to let out a breath and surge forward, crushing their lips together and kissing Goody with everything he had.

 

Goodnight let out a muffled sound of want and his hand tightened where it was cupped on Billy’s jaw. His other hand slid around Billy’s waist and he was pulling Billy in closer, tilting his head and parting his lips against Billy’s.

 

Billy moaned, his hands tightening in Goodnight’s lapels. Goodnight’s lips were so soft and he was kissing Billy with so much want, and Billy couldn’t resist biting down on Goody’s lower lip, sucking it between his own.

 

Goody hissed, his hands running over Billy’s back, Billy arching into the feeling, their lips still working furiously. He slid one of his hands into Goody’s hair, cupping the back of Goody’s head, controlling the kiss.

 

Goodnight’s hands dropped to Billy’s hips, his tongue sliding against Billy’s, his fingers tightening over Billy’s hips, digging into them, and Billy went blindingly hard at the feeling. He pulled Goody in closer, and still kissing him needily he ground his hips into Goodnight’s, rubbing himself against him, feeling the way he was growing hard through the cloth.

 

Goody let out a strangled sound, his head dropping to Billy’s shoulder, giving Billy the perfect access to fix his lips to Goody’s neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin there.

 

Goody let out a full-body shudder against Billy and arched against Billy’s hips, and Billy could feel Goodnight straining through the cloth. Goodnight slid his hands around Billy’s hips to take a firm handful of Billy’s ass, gasping as pulled Billy harder against him.

 

Billy lifted his head from where he’d been worrying the skin of Goody’s neck and it was his sudden overwhelming priority to have Goody spread out beneath him. So he caught Goody’s lips in a messy kiss and started walking them backwards until the backs of Goody’s legs were hitting the mattress and he sat down, trying to pull Billy with him.

 

But Billy just knelt down on the plush carpet between Goody’s legs, running a hand up Goody’s thighs, breathing hard. And then he reached up for Goodnight’s belt buckle, eyes flicking up towards Goody as though asking permission.

 

Goody just swallowed, his eyes gone dark as he nodded, hands mingling with Billy’s to help him along as Billy slid the belt out of its loops, the leather whispering along the cloth. Billy dropped the belt to the floor and fumbled with Goody’s flies, breath hitching as he drew out Goody’s cock, stroking upwards.

 

All of Goody’s breath seemed to leave him in a rush and he sat trembling on the edge of the bed. Billy closed his fist around Goody’s cock, dragging it up and down, adding a slight twist to his wrist, watching spellbound as a few glistening drops appeared at the head of Goody’s cock. And with a wanting moan, Billy leaned forward to lick them away, Goody’s hips jerking in response.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight said in a thick voice.

 

“Can I…” Billy said hoarsely, hand still sliding excruciatingly slow over Goody’s cock, lips still hovering over the reddened tip.

 

“God yes,” Goodnight breathed, and it was all the encouragement Billy needed to bow his head and slide his lips over Goody’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth.

 

“Oh my god…Billy…” Goodnight was whispering somewhere above him, his wrecked voice sending a streak of pleasure through Billy, pooling in his groin, and Billy moaned in response, dragging his lips back up the length of Goody’s cock, slicking it with the moisture of his mouth, and he sunk back down enveloping him with his mouth again.

 

Billy began sucking feverishly, his mind narrowed down to the single focus of Goody hot and heavy against his tongue. He bobbed his head hungrily, lips rubbing against Goody’s swollen skin, swallowing him down as much as he could, his head buried in Goody’s lap, his own want straining between his legs.

 

He felt Goody place his hand tentatively on Billy’s head, not pulling, just stroking his fingers wonderingly over Billy’s hair, almost petting him. Billy moaned at the gentleness in the feather-light touch, flattening his tongue as he laved it against Goody’s rigid length.

 

“Oh god yeah like that, just like that, Billy,” Goody groaned, his fingers tightening momentarily in Billy’s hair, the motion spurring Billy on as he kept sucking Goody’s cock which was thick and throbbing in his mouth.

 

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna come,” gasped Goody, his hips rocking minutely into Billy’s mouth.

 

Billy pulled up off his length, only to nuzzle Goody’s length, slick and wet against his cheek from his own mouth, and he looked up at Goody and growled, _“Good”_ before bending his head back down and sucking him tight into his mouth again, releasing his grip on Goody’s thighs to cup Goody’s balls, rolling them around in his warm palm.

 

“Billy,” Goody practically whimpered, and Billy hollowed his cheeks, sucking him harder, his eyes falling closed so he could fully take in every taste, every sensation of Goody in his mouth, learning which curl of his tongue produced which shudders, which tightening of his lips caused which moans…it felt like Billy could taste every breath Goody took and he needed to taste what it felt like when Goody came apart, needed to taste the spill of him over his tongue.

 

It wouldn’t be long now by the way that Goody was quivering, his breath getting shallower, his hand tightening over Billy’s head.

 

“Oh god,” he rasped out, his hips starting to jerk involuntarily, a few bursts of fluid escaping his cock, and Billy moaned, bobbing his head, his mouth wet and slick around Goody’s aching length, and he tightened his lips, working Goody faster.

 

“Oh my god, oh my – _Billy_ ,” Goodnight gritted out before his hips were pistoning into Billy’s mouth, Billy _felt_ his cock jerk over his tongue, and then Goody was spilling into Billy in a series of gasping breaths and Billy’s mouth was flooded with bitter fluid which he swallowed down, mouth continuing to work soothingly over Goody all the while.

 

Goody was trembling by the time Billy slipped his mouth off his softening length, and Billy looked up breathing heavily, his lips raw. Goodnight met his gaze, his eyes dark, his chest rising and falling, his hand still cupped around Billy’s head, thumb stroking tenderly at his ear. He made a sound of want and tugged Billy upwards. Billy kneeled up, arms wrapping around Goody’s waist, Goody bending down so that their lips could meet in the middle. They kissed deeply, hungrily, their hands stroking each other and running over each other like they were trying to claw their way inside.

 

Billy had almost forgotten about his own aching erection but it was pressing against Goody’s knee now, reminding him. He rubbed himself against Goody’s knee, the layers of cloth adding friction, but he needed Goody’s skin on him.

 

He pushed Goody back on the large mattress and crawled over him, breath hitching as Goodnight’s hands went determinedly towards his pants, drawing Billy out. His hand looked almost absurdly slender and pale against Billy’s dark, throbbing length. He stroked Billy purposefully and Billy’s legs almost buckled.

 

“Goody,” he breathed out in a ragged voice he couldn’t recognize, and he couldn’t ever remember feeling this much _want_ with someone. And Goodnight wasn’t doing anything fancy, just stroking Billy in slow, determined motions, but the way he sent a soft, blissed-out smile up at Billy caused Billy’s heart to roll over in his chest, and he whimpered at the way Goody’s thumb was circling his tip.

 

Billy reached for Goody’s hands, pinning them to the mattress and leaned down over him to catch Goody’s lips in a deep kiss, their tongues sliding together. Goody arched up into him, and he rolled his hips against Goody’s, his mind almost spinning at the feeling. The groove of Goody’s hips were still slick with sweat, saliva, and some of Goody’s own release which had escaped Billy’s mouth, and Billy rutted down against him, the combination slick and soothing against his straining cock.

 

“Yeah that’s it,” Goodnight whispered in his ear, and Billy whimpered and thrust harder against him. One day he would look forward to being buried inside of Goody to the hilt, but he had wanted this release too long and too fiercely to be able to hold back much longer.

 

He let go of Goody’s wrists so he could bury his hands in Goody’s hair, tucking his face into Goodys’ neck while he pumped against him, and Goody’s freed hands went to Billy’s ass with a smack, squeezing him through the cloth, spurring him on while Billy whined and thrust harder against him, his toes curling. And then all of a sudden he was _flooded_ by his orgasm as it washed over him in a warm wave. He jerked and shuddered against the length of Goody’s chest, his cock twitching as it released hot bursts of come against the groove of Goody’s hip which he continued sliding into, his mind spinning at the slick sensation, the wave of pleasure trickling over him and washing away while his hips slowed their rocking. Goody’s hands rubbed soothingly over his back, the man murmuring nonsense into Billy’s ear while Billy’s breathing slowed.

 

Billy let out a final shuddering breath and he nuzzled Goody, still pressed into the hollow of the man’s sweat-dampened neck. He felt Goody’s fingers slide through his hair, brushing over the scalp, the light sensation making Billy shiver.

 

Finally Billy drew back up to look at Goody and…and god, the man looked _obscene_ , lying back against the mattress, fully clothed but with his cock hanging out, his shirt pushed up over his stomach, a mess of come where Billy had been rutting against him, the man’s hair ruffled where Billy’s hands had been digging into it, lips red where Billy had been biting at them…

 

“We…” Billy said still breathing shallowly, his mind struggling to formulate a sentence. “We didn’t even get undressed.”

 

Goody nodded dazedly, hand running over the clothed length of Billy’s thigh.

 

“Well if anyone looks at home in a suit, it’s you,” he said, his other hand stroking up Billy’s tie.

 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Billy said and Goody raised his eyebrows, nodding. Billy looked down at him, lips twitching.

 

“I fucking hate these suits.”

 

They stared at each other, and then burst out laughing at the exact same moment, Billy dropping to Goody’s chest again, mirth bubbling up through him, feeling the tremors of Goody’s laughter through his chest while the man stroked at his hair again.

 

“Well then let’s see what we can do about that,” Goody said warmly, pressing a kiss to Billy’s temple, hands going to loosen Billy’s tie the rest of the way.

 

They straightened up, helping each other with their clothes, a process that mostly involved hands wandering slowly, exploratively over each patch of skin as it was slowly revealed.

 

It seemed decided that Billy was staying over, and once they were fully undressed Goodnight turned off the lights in the room and pulled the blanket over them both, moving in close to Billy, hand stroking wonderingly at Billy’s chest. Billy swallowed and moved in closer to him, running a hand along Goody’s side. The room was dark and quiet, and he leaned in and kissed Goody gently, his heart pounding at the tender familiarity in the motion.

 

They lay there curled into each other, hands caressing, trading slow kisses until their hearts settled. And then Billy pulled Goody in closer until they were pressed together completely, foreheads touching, and sharing the same breath, not even an inch of space between them. And it was like that that Billy fell asleep in Goodnight’s arms, Goody in his own.

 

*

 

Goodnight woke with a jolt, forgetting for a moment where he was. He’d lived half his life out of hotel rooms, and the transient existence sometimes disoriented him, especially when he was waking up in the middle of the night like he was now, his heart racing from dreams he couldn’t remember.

 

He was lying perfectly still on the mattress, having woke up with little event, other than the way his eyes had flown open. His dreams had started out normally enough, until gradually they became more pressing and vivid, and Goodnight’s body was waking itself up before it could become too overwhelmed by the feeling, pulling the plug on its own subconscious.

 

Goodnight took in a deep breath and let his pulse settle, trying to calm the low thrum of anxiety. And then he felt a hand stroke through his hair, fingers gently brushing the nape of his neck, and he rolled over to see Billy propped up against the cushions, scrolling through his phone, the screen on a dim setting so as to not wake Goody with its light.

 

Goody pressed in closer to him. They’d fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs, their grips having loosened in their sleep. But Billy’s hand slipped down to Goody’s shoulder now and rubbed it comfortingly. He placed his phone on the nightstand, sliding back down and lying across from Goodnight.

 

“Bad dream?” he murmured, hand trailing over Goodnight’s chest, almost certainly able to feel how fast Goodnight’s heart was going.

 

“Probably,” Goodnight mumbled. His sleeping had gotten much better over the years but he still found himself waking up with his pulse racing sometimes, unable to remember why.

 

Billy moved in closer, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Goodnight’s throat, and Goodnight let his eyes fall closed at the way Billy tasted the skin there.

 

Billy drew back and Goodnight sighed, wrapping his arms around Billy as they lay there for a while, feet rubbing together occasionally.

 

“What about you?” Goodnight asked Billy, who looked like he’d been awake for a while. “Did you sleep?”

 

Billy shrugged. “A bit. Still on the early side for me though,” he said, referencing his semi-nocturnal schedule as someone who worked through the night.

 

Goodnight nodded, stroking Billy’s skin, marveling at how close he felt to him, that Billy had come to him at all, that they could be here like this now.

 

His face must have been matching how he was feeling because Billy was running a finger along the edge of Goodnight’s lips which had curved up without his notice. Billy didn’t say anything but his own lips curved to match, and Goodnight leaned in to kiss them, Billy’s lips parting for his, kissing him back.

 

They parted slowly and Billy rubbed Goody’s jaw, playing a bit with his whiskers, something almost fascinated in his touch, as though he didn’t get a lot of opportunities to be physically affectionate. But there was nothing but affection in his touch now as he scritched at Goodnight’s cheek and nudged his forehead against Goody’s so that he could kiss him again, and it made Goodnight’s heart tighten.

 

They lay in silence for a while and then Billy was tilting his chin up to look at Goody.

 

“Do you always get bad dreams?” he asked him with characteristic straightforwardness.

 

“They used to be worse,” Goodnight murmured. “Used to be pretty bad. Nowadays if it ever still happens, it’s not so much bad dreams, just…tense ones.”

 

Billy nodded like he understood what Goodnight meant, and Goodnight slid a hand through the hair that feathered at the nape of Billy’s neck.

 

“Sometimes I know when I’m dreaming, and I’m able to wake myself up,” he said. “Otherwise they just get stronger. And it’s not that I feel like I’m in danger, but I just feel…”

 

“Trapped?” Billy supplied quietly. “Yeah I know.”

 

Billy sighed and shifted his weight on the mattress, still keeping himself pressed to Goody.

 

Goodnight watched him lying there in the darkened room, his fingers aimlessly tracing over Goodnight’s arms. Goodnight couldn’t make out his face, but he still got the sense of a clenched jaw.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Goodnight asked quietly. Billy’s eyes flicked up to his, soft in the shadows of the room. He stared a Goodnight for a beat before nodding slowly.

 

“Why’d you stay?” Goodnight asked him. “Stay working here, that is.”

 

Billy was staring at him quietly in the dark, but he wasn’t telling Goodnight to mind his own business, so Goodnight took a chance and continued:

 

“I mean you’re a smart guy. I know Bogue was blackmailing you, but you probably could have escaped anytime, robbed him too just for good measure, disappeared into the crowd, and vanished forever. You could have lost him for good if you wanted to. But you stayed.”

 

Billy looked down. He looked so concentrated on the patch of mattress that Goodnight wasn’t sure he was going to answer him at all. He was about to tell Billy to forget about it, it wasn’t his business, when Billy opened his mouth.

 

“I had to at first,” he said. “I had some family who was still alive. My father, back in Korea. We hadn’t spoken in ages though. I mean having his only son turn out to be a criminal _and_ one who liked men? He was probably relieved when I moved to the states, I mean can you blame him?

 

 _Yes,_ Goodnight thought, but he didn’t want to interrupt.

 

“He was still my dad though,” Billy said quietly. “And Bogue found out he was my only living relative. Told me if I ever escaped, went to the authorities, sabotaged him in any way, then he’d have my Dad killed.”

 

Billy’s met his, totally serious. “And he would have. I didn’t doubt that for a second.”

 

Goodnight nodded silently and Billy sighed.

 

“So I stayed. He’d have killed my Dad if I didn’t.”

 

Goodnight nodded again, trailing a hand over Billy’s shoulder which gave up some of his tension at Goody’s touch. He brushed Billy’s skin thoughtfully. He’d wondered why anyone as capable as Billy would have stayed under someone’s thumb for so long, but he should have figured it was something like that. That Billy was protecting someone else.

 

“So what changed?” Goodnight asked him.

 

“Two years ago,” Billy said in a hollow voice. “I found out my dad died. Heart attack.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Goodnight murmured. The death of a parent was never an easy thing, no matter what one’s relationship was like with them.

 

“And you know what the funny part was?” Billy said utterly humourlessly. Goodnight looked at Billy uncertainly, whose eyes were far back.

 

“He had actually died six years ago. Bogue just never told me.”

 

Goodnight stared at him his lips parted incredulously and Billy let out a huff of bitter laughter.

 

“I’d been spending all this time here for nothing.”

 

Goodnight felt a rush of rage towards Bogue, grief for Billy, and guilt at himself for not having realized sooner just how deep Billy’s issues with trusting people ran.

 

“When I found out…” Billy said in as emotionless a voice Goodnight had ever heard on him, “…I’d never been that angry. At him, myself….so I broke into his room while he was sleeping.”

 

Billy’s voice was cold, empty. “I had a knife. I was planning on killing him. I didn’t care if they caught me, I was _going_ to kill him.”

 

His eyes had been blazing coldly. But then just like that the angry light in them slipped away and he sighed.

 

“But then I saw the rest of my life. All I was ever good for was security, whether it was breaking it or making it. And what would I even do if I got out? Go back to being a criminal? After what my old partner did? I couldn’t trust Bogue, but I knew I’d never trust any other criminals again. It was the devil I knew versus the devil I didn’t. Bogue _is_ a devil. But at least I knew what to expect with him.”

 

“I told myself I was being pragmatic,” Billy said after a beat. “But truthfully…”

 

He looked up at Goodnight who’d been listening as though hypnotized by Billy’s quiet tale.

 

“I was scared,” Billy said simply. “Scared of what else was out there. I just…gave up.”

 

He sounded bitter at himself, embarrassed that he hadn’t remained a stone, that he’d let his position get under his skin, that being affected by spending almost ten years being tormented by someone else was something to be _ashamed_ of.

 

It appeared Billy was done talking, and Goodnight continued to rub circles into Billy’s shoulder, easing out the tension.

 

“But you didn’t give up,” Goodnight said quietly. “I mean you’re here now, aren’t you?”

 

Billy looked back at him, and Goodnight worked out a knot in the man’s arm.

 

“You came to the house that first time,” Goodnight said. “You weren’t sure if you could trust us but you planned the job with us just the same. That’s not what someone who’s ‘given up’ does. If we manage to take him down it’s gonna be because of you. So no, I don’t believe you did give up.”

 

Billy was looking at Goodnight, his eyes uncertain but Goodnight looked back at him, trying to project his conviction onto him.

 

“I know what it looks like to give up, and it’s not you, Billy Rocks,” Goodnight said. “Trust me.”

 

And then his hand stilled on Billy’s arm.

 

“You do trust me…don’t you?” Goodnight asked softly.

 

Billy stared at him for a long moment, not saying anything. And then he leaned in to kiss Goodnight purposefully, wrapping an arm around Goodnight’s waist.

 

Goodnight kissed him back, but he broke off lips buzzing.

 

“You don’t have to distract me if you don’t want to answer,” he started to mumble, but Billy cut him off by pressing another kiss to his lips.

 

“I’m not distracting you,” Billy murmured there. “I’m showing you.”

 

He reached for Goodnight’s hand, pulling it behind him, dipping Goodnight’s fingers between his cheeks, guiding them to his entrance, as though to tell Goodnight that even if he found it hard to tell Goodnight he trusted him, there were ways he could show him instead.

 

Goodnight took in a sharp breath and looked into his eyes questioningly, brushing a finger hesitantly against Billy, and Billy nodded, leaning in to kiss Goodnight again.

 

“Billy,” Goodnight breathed out. He could feel himself stirring at the thought, and he wanted to so much, but he needed to make sure that Billy was offering because _he_ wanted to, not some misplaced need to prove himself. “You want this?”

 

Billy’s eyes flicked to his, the want in them aching.

 

“Goodnight Robicheaux, I’ve wanted this since the moment I met you,” Billy whispered against Goodnight’s lips.

 

Goodnight nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat and kissed him back, his heart suddenly pounding, every nerve in his body alight. He kissed Billy hungrily and wrapped his arms around him, feeling every inch of Billy’s warm, golden skin, reveling in it, savouring it. Last night they’d been fully dressed, but now they took the time to run gentle hands over each other, arching into each other’s touches, kissing all the while.

 

Goodnight rolled Billy onto his back and settled on top of him, reaching into the nightstand with supplies he’d placed there at a more optimistic time when he thought Billy might be coming back with him after the restaurant. Things might have taken a detour he wasn’t expecting, but they were here now, and however many detours they hit, Goodnight knew with complete certainty that they’d always find their way back here again.

 

He kissed Billy intently, squeezing some oil onto his fingers, reaching down to lightly stroke at Billy’s entrance with gentle circling motions until Billy was arching against him, running his hands helplessly over Goodnight’s back. Goodnight added more oil to be certain, and then he was slowly, carefully sliding two fingers inside of Billy, and god, the gasp Billy let out as he leaned his head back, his neck an arched rapturous column, was a sound that seared through Goodnight right to his bones.

 

He parted his fingers just the slightest bit and continued to work them slowly inside of Billy, never rushing, staring down at Billy in awe whose chest was rising and falling shallowly, breath hitching, his eyes shut in bliss and his lips parted breathlessly. Goodnight bent down and kissed those lips more bruisingly than he’d meant to, but Billy just circled his arms around Goodnight’s neck, kissing him even harder, legs falling open more, making a space for Goodnight.

 

Billy was making quiet sounds of want, his hands stroking down Goodnight’s chest, one warm hand continuing down between Goodnight’s legs and closing around Goodnight’s cock. Goodnight’s breath caught, his lips stuttering over Billy’s, and he let his eyes fall closed, giving himself up to the feeling of Billy stroking him in simple, open motions, bringing him to full hardness.

 

Goodnight worked his own fingers inside of Billy at the same speed of Billy strokes over him, their eyes meeting in the darkened room. Billy was flushed and quivering, leaking against his hipbone, his eyes blown wide as they gazed up at Goodnight who was braced above him. Billy leaned up and kissed Goodnight, pulling back to murmur, “Please.”

 

Goodnight nodded, reaching for the condom he’d procured, rolling it on while Billy coated his own hands in lube. He reached back out with both hands, sliding them over the length of Goodnight’s sheathed cock, slicking up the thin condom, Goodnight shuddering at the feeling of both Billy’s hands twisting and working over him until he was the same temperature as Billy’s skin.

 

He settled back between Billy’s legs, sliding a hand to small of Billy’s back, fingers dancing in the dimples there before raising Billy’s hips, Billy wrapping his legs around Goodnight’s waist. Goodnight took himself in hand, his cock nudging at Billy’s slick opening. He slid the tip of himself past the tight ring of muscle, his vision almost whiting out at the pressure. And letting out a breath he began to rock his hips, slowly at first, working himself into Billy, inch by agonizing inch.

 

When he was fully sheathed he dropped his forehead to Billy’s. Billy’s lips were parted and his hands were digging into Goodnight’s shoulders as he adjusted, Goodnight remaining as still as he could muscles taut and trembling.

 

Goodnight felt like he was burning up, and he pressed his lips to Billy’s cool ones.

 

“Can I move?” he managed to gasp out, and Billy nodded, rolling his hips up at the exact moment Goodnight started to thrust, and Goodnight thought he was going to faint from the rush of mindless pleasure that shuddered through him.

 

He adjusted himself over Billy and began to thrust more deliberately, kissing Billy whose hands were running over him, pulling him in closer, deeper. Billy was tight around him but slick and warm, giving easily, and Goodnight was losing himself inside of him with every stroke.

 

He drew back to look at Billy whose eyes were half closed, surrendering himself to Goodnight, wearing a dazed expression like he couldn’t believe it. Goodnight couldn’t believe it either, even though he was inside Billy in every way possible, sparks showering down his spine with every shift of his hips.

 

“Goody,” Billy was breathing out, tugging Goody down so he could be fully on top of Billy. Goodnight moaned and got as close to Billy as he could without breaking his movements, until it felt like every inch of them was pressed together. Goodnight could feel Billy pressing hot and heavy against his stomach and he snaked a hand between them so he could take hold of Billy, the pads of his fingers dragging against the skin of Billy’s cock, squeezing and stroking until Billy’s breath was coming even faster.

 

“Oh god, Goodnight,” Billy moaned, his eyes squeezed shut, and if Goodnight felt like he was falling apart at the seams, Billy looked even _more_ wrecked, his muscles trembling, his face overwhelmed.

 

“Oh darlin’,” Goodnight said hoarsely, hips still pumping into Billy, harder now. Billy arched into each thrust, gasping every time Goodnight hit the right spot inside of him, hands stuttering over Goodnight’s back.

 

“Goody,” Billy whispered, wrapping his arms tighter around him, burying his face in Goodnight’s neck. Goodnight kissed his hair and curled over him, and they continued rocking together, wrapped up in each other completely.

 

Goodnight could feel Billy shaking beneath him and he released his grip on Billy’s cock to drag his tongue over his own palm, taking firm hold of Billy again who shuddered at the added sensation.

 

Goodnight nudged his head against Billy’s, easing it out from where he’d been hiding his face in Goodnight’s shoulder, and Goodnight kissed him deliberately, catching Billy’s lips between his, curling his tongue against Billy’s. He squeezed his palm around Billy’s cock until the man was trembling even more, gasping at each snap of Goody’s hips.

 

“Come on, Billy,” Goodnight murmured against Billy’s lip, his own sweat-dampened hair tickling Billy’s forehead. “Let it go, sweetheart.”

 

Billy whimpered, throwing his head back as Goodnight continued to pump into him, resuming his strokes on Billy’s cock, Billy gasping out variations of ‘yes’ and Goodnight’s name, in a string of mindless pleasure.

 

“Oh god, Goody, there, right there,” Billy said, tightening his legs around Goodnight’s waist, and Goodnight pushed into him never changing his speed because he knew Billy was getting close.

 

Billy’s eyes cracked open and he looked at Goodnight, eyes hazy with lust, and it was all Goodnight could do to keep his thrusts steady. But then Billy’s hands were sliding down to Goodnight’s ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh and pulling Goodnight harder into him, Goodnight letting out a strangled sound at the current that shot through him.

 

“Oh god, Billy,” he moaned, and it was like all Billy needed was to hear his name spilling from Goodnight’s lips, because in that moment he arched his back and was spilling over Goodnight’s knuckles with a choked cry.

 

“Oh god yeah, look at you, so beautiful, Billy, my god, so beautiful,” Goodnight babbled as he worked his fist over Billy’s slick, spurting length until Billy was quivering and boneless, limbs like rubber as Goodnight thrust into his pliant body over and over.

 

Billy’s hands slid up to Goodnight’s face, guiding him insistently, like he was trying to bring their faces level. Goodnight felt flayed open by the naked want in Billy’s eyes, and Billy nodded, drawing Goodnight in closer until he was kissing him again. Goodnight tightened his arms around Billy, thrusting faster and harder, taking pleasure for himself, the pleasure Billy was offering him, until his hips began bucking instinctively, mindlessly, and he was pushing into Billy with a deep groan, his climax ripping through him. He jerked and shuddered, Billy’s hands soothing him through it all the while.

 

“Oh my god,” Goodnight wheezed as he felt his hips give a few more shallow jerks, cock pulsing inside of Billy. Billy’s hands brushed through his hair and Goodnight let out a deep breath, his limbs feeling weak as he settled against Billy, trying to catch his breath.

 

Finally once he came back to himself he began to ease carefully out of Billy, rubbing the man’s hips, already missing being inside of him. He rolled off the condom, dropping it into the wastepaper basket beside the bed, and then practically collapsed on top of Billy, lying against his chest, just breathing him in.

 

He felt like he was drifting through a cloud of endless bliss, feeling Billy’s chest rising and falling beneath him with every breath, Billy’s fingers tracing patterns over the sheen of sweat covering Goodnight’s back, his lips occasionally pressing gentle kisses to the parts of Goody’s skin that were nearest.

 

Billy hummed and Goodnight turned his head to look at him inquiringly. Billy’s lips were curved, his eyes sparkling at Goodnight.

 

“You, speechless…I thought it would never happen.”

 

Goodnight huffed out a laugh, and Billy immediately bent down to kiss him warmly, a glow spreading in Goodnight’s chest.

 

“Well what would you like me to say?” he asked, rubbing Billy’s thigh, bending down to press a kiss to Billy’s hip.

 

Billy shrugged. “You’ll think of something.”

 

Goodnight nodded, settling back in against Billy against the cushions, their hands stroking aimlessly, just enjoying feeling each other.

 

Finally Goodnight looked up at Billy, biting his lip.

 

“So…I take it this means you’re still on the team, right?”

 

Billy looked down at him incredulously, and Goodnight struggled to keep a straight face.

 

“ _That’s_ what you think of to say?” Billy asked indignantly, even as a grin was starting to tug at his lips.

 

“I’m just _checking_!” Goodnight said laughing, yelping as Billy pinched his stomach, but Billy was laughing too, sliding down to kiss Goody’s stomach openmouthed.

 

“Yes,” Billy mumbled into the skin there. “Yes I’m still on the team.”

 

Goodnight knew that at this point, but he still felt a warmth spread through him as he pulled Billy back up, kissing his lips.

 

“I’m glad,” he murmured. And then his lips twitched. “I like working with you.”

 

Billy stroked Goodnight’s chin, eyes shining at him.

 

“I like working with you too.”

 

They looked at each other, lips quivering. And then they broke into helpless laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

 

Goodnight drew Billy closer to him as they settled back against the mattress, both of them still chuckling. Goodnight’s eyes closed peacefully at the feeling Billy’s laughter running through him.

 

Goodnight stroked a hand through Billy’s hair, and after a while his mouth started trembling again.

 

“Wanna work together again sometime?”

 

They burst out laughing again, Billy shaking where he was lying half on top of Goodnight. Goodnight ran a hand down his back and Billy propped his head up on Goody’s chest, looking at him with sparkling eyes and the most heartstopping smile Goodnight had ever seen in his life.

 

“Anytime.”

 

Goodnight smiled and thumbed the edge of Billy’s mouth which was still smiling back at him. And as they settled together again and Goodnight wrapped his arms back around Billy, he decided that no matter how it went on Friday…

 

…This was still the best job he’d ever done.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up to my own fic 15 minutes late with starbucks again* Sorry for another long wait! Work has been crazy these days but I FINALLY managed to get this one done. The next two chapters are the heist itself (and not at all a highly daunting prospect haha oof), but I hope you guys enjoy this 'calm before the storm'. And thanks so much again for all your nice feedback! This fic has been challenging in a lot of ways, but your kind words are always so encouraging <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodnight felt like he was dreaming, delirious, practically lit up from the outside in, surrounded by warmth and light and nothing but blissful pressure inside of him as he arched his back, smiling beatifically up at Billy. Billy didn’t smile back but he did let out a shaky breath, his eyes full of emotion as he reached out to trace Goody’s eyelids, bending down to press a kiss to his lips as he continued to thrust slowly into him, taking his time.

 

Billy pulled back and Goodnight ran his hands shakily up Billy’s chest, taking in a breath as Billy slid heavily into him again, cock catching against his prostate and sending fiery sparks through Goodnight, and Billy stilled his steady thrusts to rub a few times against the same spot.

 

“Oh my god,” Goodnight said in a sharp cry, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, vision practically whiting out. He was dimly aware of Billy running a hand over his chest, bending down to suck one of Goody’s nipples into his mouth, resuming his original pace.

 

“God, Billy,” Goodnight said in what was practically a sob, sliding his hands through Billy’s hair. Billy bit down gently on the nipple he was working on and Goodnight felt an answering ripple of pleasure shudder through his body as Billy took him apart piece by piece.

 

Billy drew back, his eyes dark, muscles standing out where he was braced over Goodnight, still thrusting slowly, smiling when Goodnight’s hands reached back out for him, running over his neck and shoulders wonderingly. He was bathed in morning light, a white sheet hanging off his hips as he sunk steadily into Goodnight’s body where Goodnight was lying on the gold blankets. It was like Goodnight was surrounded by a glow everywhere he looked, and it was burning him up inside and out. And the sight of Billy moving over him was like a beam of light turned flesh, his skin warmed gold, his eyes like embers where they were fixed intently on Goody, turning him to cinders.

 

“Oh…yes…” Goodnight breathed as Billy shifted his hips and drove into Goodnight with a snap. “Yes just like that, sweetheart…”

 

There was a sweet ache inside of him, a tingling warmth pooling in his stomach, collecting tightly where it moved lower towards his groin, and Goodnight’s hands fell helplessly to the sheets, fingers tightening. The motion pulled the last corner of the sheet off Billy’s hips and it slipped off his skin, and _god_ the vision he made had the heat inside of Goodnight tightening, sending tremors through him.

 

“Touch…touch me, Billy, please,” Goodnight said in a cracked whisper, and Billy’s hand immediately closed warmly around Goody’s aching length, not for a moment denying Goody what he asked for. Goodnight’s hips jumped into the clutch of Billy’s fist, growing even harder as he quivered, overwhelmed by Billy inside of him, around him, overtaking his senses, his hand working steadily over Goodnight in time with the movement of his hips.

 

Goodnight was hanging by a thread, body coiled and trembling as he gazed helplessly up at Billy who smiled down at him, a shock of hair falling past his eyes. And then his thumb was running over Goodnight’s tip and Goodnight was _done_ for, a blinding rush of pleasure shattering him as his hands flew up to his face, stars exploded behind his eyelids and he was shooting hot bursts into Billy’s warm hand, pulsing over and over as Billy worked him through it.

 

“Oh god,” Goodnight gasped, his mind wiped by pleasure, trying to make the feeling last as a few more pulses spilled over Billy’s fingers. He clenched around Billy’s cock for all he was worth, and only then did Billy’s hips stutter out of their previous controlled motions as he let out a shaky curse. Goodnight placed his hands on Billy’s sides, just to feel him, whimpering at the roll of muscle and warm skin beneath his fingers, pulling Billy closer to him. Billy thrust desperately into him, slumped over him, his hips jerking instinctively, faster and faster, his previous pace belying how much he’d been holding back before. Goodnight whispered encouragements in his ear, telling him he was beautiful, to take anything he wanted, to use him, Billy’s hips bucking until suddenly he pressed hard, his fingers were digging into Goodnight's hips hard enough to hurt, and he was coming with a muffled shout, his face tucked into Goodnight’s neck, his muscles taut and trembling as Goodnight ran soothing hands over him.

 

“Goody,” he moaned, and Goodnight felt Billy biting weakly at his shoulder and his heart clenched, holding Billy closer, shivering as he felt Billy thrust weakly into him a few more times.

 

Goodnight was breathing hard and he pressed damp kisses to any part of Billy he could reach while Billy slowly came down from it, in no hurry to separate their bodies, rubbed raw and tingling from what they’d been sharing.

 

But all too soon he felt Billy stir, and slowly start to pull out of Goodnight as gently as he could, Goodnight clenching around the loss. But Billy immediately slumped back on top of him, breathing hard, head resting over Goodnight’s pounding heart, a hand skating up Goody’s side.

 

Goodnight sighed happily, holding Billy close as they lay there. Eventually he shifted beneath him, managing to roll them over until Billy was on his back, gazing breathlessly up at him. Goodnight trailed a hand between Billy’s legs and gently rolled the condom off Billy’s spent cock with careful fingers. Billy’s chest was rising and falling and Goodnight kissed it, then kissed Billy’s stomach, then bent his head between Billy’s legs to impulsively suck Billy’s softened cock into his mouth, reveling in the resulting shudder that ran through Billy. Goodnight closed his eyes, peacefully sucking Billy’s spent length for a few moments before pulling off and settling back on top of Billy, smiling serenely down at him.

 

Billy’s eyes were heavily hooded and he still looked dazed as he reached out to thumb at Goodnight’s lower lip. He made for an exquisite sight, warm toned limbs resting heavily against the blankets, hair a black shock against crisp white pillows. The sheets no longer looked like swaths of billowing summer air, the blanket was no longer liquid gold, but Billy was still Billy, and somehow that seemed more magical than anything else.

 

“That,” Goodnight said between breaths, “is perhaps the nicest wakeup I’ve ever had, mon cher.”

Billy stretched beneath him, an unholy ripple of muscles and bare skin, and he pulled Goodnight decisively over him until they were pressed chest to toes again, Billy letting out a contented sigh once they were slotted together completely.

 

They’d woken up similarly joined, in a tangle of lazily shifting limbs that left little doubt as to how aroused both had become in their sleep. Goodnight had initiated the slow rocking of their hips, expecting them to finish themselves off like that, loose and content as they were in that space between waking and sleep.

 

But Billy had instead pulled away to retrieve the condoms and lube, deliberately slicking his own fingers as he gazed down at Goody, hunger in his eyes but a clear question in them too. Goodnight had answered by eagerly drawing Billy’s fingers down between his legs, lifting his hips towards Billy in invitation. And before Goodnight knew it, he’d had a leg up over Billy’s shoulder, and Billy was pressing into him, and they were sharing themselves with each other completely.

 

Goodnight nuzzled a kiss into the hollow of Billy’s throat, the vibrations of Billy’s approving hum buzzing through his lips.

 

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed,” Billy mumbled, stroking Goodnight’s hair.

 

“Well who says you have to?” Goodnight asked with a smile, propping his chin up on Billy’s chest. “The heist is tomorrow, and you don’t have to work until six tonight. We’ve got the whole day.”

 

“I figured you’d want to use today to prep,” Billy asked him.

 

“We can do that here!” Goodnight insisted.

 

“What in bed?” Billy asked, huffing out a laugh.

 

“Billy Rocks,” Goodnight said slowly. “Are you telling me you’ve never worked in bed before?”

 

“I think I just did,” Billy said with a sudden wicked grin as he smacked Goodnight’s ass proprietorially.

 

Goodnight laughed and ground his hips minutely into Billy’s, even though neither had any hope of getting hard again soon. “I’ll say.”

 

Billy’s hand gave his ass a squeeze and Goodnight slid a hand through Billy’s hair.

 

“Come on, it’s our last free morning before the job,” Goodnight persisted. “We can do any prep we need for tomorrow, _and_ order room service.”

 

He waggled his eyebrows hopefully at Billy who let out another laugh.

 

“Alright. What did you want to work on first?”

 

Goodnight beamed and sat back on his heels pulling Billy up with him, winding his arms around Billy’s neck.

 

“Since you ask, I figured we could run our lines for tomorrow,” Goodnight said gazing into Billy’s warm eyes, Billy’s arms going around his waist.

 

“Lines, huh?” Billy asked, his breath tickling Goodnight’s lips.

 

“Lines,” Goodnight confirmed with a smile, leaning in to capture Billy’s lips with his own.

 

Billy kissed him back, and Goodnight could feel the way the man’s lips were curving up beneath his.

 

Billy hummed as they broke apart, trailing a finger down Goodnight’s jaw.

 

“That’s not your line,” Billy said teasingly.

 

“Nope. It’s yours,” Goodnight said with a laugh. Billy smiled again as he drew Goodnight’s chin towards him.

 

“Mine,” Billy agreed, his eyes sparkling with warm conviction.

 

And he leaned to press his lips to Goody’s again and continued to prove just that.

 

 

 

*

 

Red’s muscles were straining as he counted out another five reps, letting the dumbbell fall to the floor with a muffled thud. He quickly dropped and banged out five pushups before springing to his feet, reaching for the dumbbell and doing another five reps with his other arm.

 

He dropped the dumbbell panting and stretched his arms, relishing in the burn of his muscles. He preferred his own gym but he had to admit the Gold Rush’s was decent, and blessedly empty during the middle of the day.

 

He wandered over to the cooler to refill his water bottle, drinking thirstily, and going back to the mat he claimed to complete another circuit of free weights, ignoring the shining, state-of-the-art machines that let people lift heavier weights. He could have crushed them if he’d so chosen to, but Red had the most physically taxing job out of anyone tomorrow. Today’s workout was a light one, just to stay tuned-up and ready to go.

 

He re-racked his weights and popped in his earbuds, getting ready to do some mat exercises with just his body weight. He was in the middle of some crunches, music blaring so loudly in his ears that he didn’t hear anyone had come into the gym until Horne was standing right in front of him, waving to get his attention.

 

Red hated being interrupted while working out, but he figured it had to be for work, so he pulled out his earbuds, asking Horne “Yeah?”. He got to his feet, redoing his bun which had become messy from his exertions.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Horne said, looking it. “But I was just with Sam. We were talking about when you and I each approach Bogue, and we figure we oughta space the approaches apart by about five minutes. Can you swing it on your end?”

 

Red took another swig of water as he quickly ran through where he’d be at each second of the con, details he had so firmly ingrained it wasn’t hard to access them. He thought it through then nodded.

 

“Yeah. No prob.”

 

Horne nodded. “Right then. Well I’ll leave you to it.”

 

He turned to go and paused as he looked at some of the machines. Red watched him tinker interestedly with some of the levers on a leg extension machine.

“Do you lift?” Red found himself asking. He never really talked to Horne if he could help it, but what the hell. The job was tomorrow and it was only one more day. If a conversation now would smooth things for tomorrow, Red could suck it up. And also exercise calmed him, which meant Horne had caught him in a fairly relaxed mood.

 

“Used to in my day,” Horne said, looking cautious but optimistic at the direct question. “Mostly free weights though.”

 

Red raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of water. He also preferred free weights over the machines. Those were designed to target specific muscles and often just for the glamorous effect. He preferred his muscles to actually be functional rather than just for show.

 

“What do you bench?” Red asked him while wiping his forehead.

 

Horne shrugged. “About one-ninety at my peak.”

 

“Pounds?” Red asked raising an eyebrow, not very impressed.

 

“Kilos,” Horne retorted with a knowing smile. “You?”

 

Red pretended not to hear the question through another sip of water and did the mental math, inwardly scowling at the fact that the number did have him beat. But honestly it was kind of nice to talk shop with someone when it came to workouts. There’d been a small gym back at the house where they’d been staying, but neither Faraday or Vasquez ever seemed interested in it. Faraday could be persuaded to spot Red, and sometimes he’d do a circuit of his own, but more as a chore than enjoyment. And Vasquez never touched the weights although he’d sometimes wander down to the gym to offer unhelpful suggestions to Red and Faraday while munching obviously on a bag of chips. Red had had no idea how the guy looked like he was in shape, until he saw Vasquez once do ten miles on the treadmill without even breaking a sweat.

 

“Keep meaning to get back into it,” Horne continued. “But hard to find a good gym with all the equipment you want sometimes.”

 

“Well after tomorrow you’ll be up an extra twenty-one million,” Red said, screwing his water bottle closed. “With your share you could afford to open up ten gyms if you want.”

 

“Oh I’m not keeping my share,” Horne said absently, and Red raised his eyebrows finally looking at him directly.

 

“Why not?” Red asked.

 

Horne frowned. “Josh didn’t tell you?”

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“You guys are pals, I figured he might have mentioned it when he found out I was looking into it,” Horne mused, almost to himself. Then he huffed out a laugh. “What do you know, turns out the lad can keep his mouth shut about some things.”

 

“About _what_?”

 

“It’s…it’s about your old reserve,” Horne said, suddenly looking uncertain.

 

Oh. Red hadn’t been expecting this conversation to ever come up again, but he raised an eyebrow at Horne.

 

“Wasn’t my reserve,” Red said. “Just said it was a Comanche reserve, didn’t say it was _my_ Comanche reserve.”

 

Horne looked momentarily surprised, but then his face smoothed out decisively as he waved his hand.

 

“Even so. But the thing is, if we pull it off tomorrow I’ll be spreading my share around each of those families who had to relocate off their land. You know…’cause of my factory and all.”

 

Red was staring at Horne who just shrugged.

 

“I know it’s probably too little too late, and it doesn’t really make up for the principle of the thing,” Horne said softly. “But I’ve caused enough damage in the casino business already, owning them or robbing them, whatever you like. And if I’m still gonna be making money off of ‘em, it felt like the very least I could do.”

 

They stood there silently, Horne’s hands in his pocket.

 

“Anyways, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to any of the others,” Horne said. “Seeing as how the good book tells us to do our good deeds in secret and all that. But I just…well I just felt you had a right to know.”

 

He nodded at Red and then started to leave. Red stood there looking down at the gym mat.

 

“You’re really giving away your whole share?” he asked abruptly, still too taken aback to really process it.

 

Horne turned back. “Well don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna reimburse myself for all the pizza money I spent on you guys, since none of you can ever seem to find your wallets when it arrives. But apart from that, yeah.”

 

He cracked a smile at Red and started to walk away again, Red still staring at the mat.

 

“Horne.”

 

Horne looked around surprised, and Red picked up his towel, walking over to the bench press.

 

“Spot me.”

 

Horne looked like he was trying to hold back a delighted smile as he walked over to the weights, shucking off his jacket as he watched Red stacking weights on either end of the barbell.

 

“Really?” Horne asked, raising his eyebrows at the weights Red was loading up. “Only two-eighty?”

 

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

 

*

“Do you have any sixes?”

 

“Go fish.”

 

Faraday sighed and picked up another card from the deck, tucking the five into the fan of cards in his hand.

 

“Do you have any eights?” Vasquez asked him where he was leaning back in his chair across from Faraday.

 

“Go fish,” Faraday replied. Vasquez grabbed the top card in the deck, looking satisfied as he paired it with one of his own, setting them down on the table with his many other pairs. Vasquez had one more card left, which Faraday knew was a three from all the times Vasquez had asked him for one.

 

“Do you have any…fours?” Faraday asked.

 

“Go fish.”

 

Faraday took another card, looking irately at the three between his fingers.

 

“Before you ask,” he said ironically, handing it over to Vasquez.

 

Vasquez’s lip twitched as he took the card, paired it with his last one, and put them down, stretching his hands over his head.

 

“I don’t know what you were talking about, guero,” he said nodding to the cards on the table. “This game is pretty fun.”

 

“Yeah if you get lucky five shuffles straight,” Faraday said.

 

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Vasquez said facetiously.

 

“It’s okay, you can say it…you didn’t want to risk a poker game with me,” Faraday said.

 

“Eh, tomorrow’s enough of a gamble already,” Vasquez said with a shrug.

 

Faraday rolled his eyes and reached for the deck. Vasquez might have turned him down on the poker, but Faraday should probably count himself lucky that Vasquez still wanted to hang out with him at all after last night, that _any_ of them wanted to talk to him. When they’d gotten the text that Billy was still in, Faraday had felt no small measure of relief. But it was still tempered by guilt.

 

He hadn’t been able to face the prospect of spending the whole day alone in his hotel room – nice as it was – but he didn’t feel he could just go up and approach anyone on the team as his normal swaggering self, no matter how much he needed the company the day before a job. Sam was probably still disappointed in him, Horne was nice but the bible stuff grated on Faraday after a while, Faraday knew Red was having a gym day, and there was no way he was talking to either Goody or Billy so soon.

 

So even though there was still _something_ simmering with Vasquez, he was still Faraday’s best option. And the afternoon had seen Faraday knocking on Vasquez’s door, holding up pack of cards and looking at Vasquez beseechingly, trying not to look as desperate for company as he felt. Vasquez had just opened the door wider and there they were now, playing a wide array of childhood card games: Go Fish, Crazy Eights, Spit, Cheat…nothing with gambling though, since apparently the eminently practical Vasquez did have a superstitious side after all.

 

“Well at least tomorrow’s still happening,” Faraday muttered, snapping the cards into a shuffle again. “No thanks to me.”

 

They hadn’t brought up Faraday’s blunder from last night yet, but now Vasquez was looking at Faraday somewhat hesitantly.

 

“You know…it was nice of you to go talk to Billy after,” Vasquez said.

 

Faraday’s eyes snapped up to him.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Vasquez raised an eyebrow. “I mean it was nice of you to go talk to Billy after.”

 

How the hell did Vasquez know about that, Faraday thought.

 

“How the hell did you know about that?” Faraday asked.

 

Vasquez finally looked somewhat sheepish.

 

“When we brought all the stuff back to the hotel I was setting up all my monitors and connecting them to the casino cameras. Happened to see you walking through the halls.”

 

Faraday raised an eyebrow. “A hotel with hundreds of hallways and you just _happened_ to see me?”

 

“Hey, maybe you’re just hard to miss,” Vasquez said. His mouth ticked up as he looked at Faraday, and normally such a thing would have picked Faraday’s pulse up, but he was still staring incredulously at Vasquez.

 

“Anyways,” Vasquez said, pushing on. “Saw you go up to Billy’s room, and later I saw Billy go over to Goody’s room, and as far as I know, neither of them have left.”

 

“Wow,” Faraday said slowly, staring at Vasquez. “Creep much?”

 

Vasquez laughed. “It’s just a habit, guero. Noticing things is my job. Anyways wasn’t hard to figure out you must have tried to make things right for them.”

 

“Not for _them_ ,” Faraday pointed out. “For the job.”

 

“If you say so,” Vasquez said sounding unconvinced, a slight smile playing at his lips as he looked thoughtfully at Faraday. Faraday cleared his throat, looking down at the cards as he continued to shuffle them.

 

“You know…you didn’t seem very upset. By the possibility of the job being called off last night,” Faraday said to him uncertainly. He wasn’t really sure what he was asking, he was still just knocked for a loop by the easy acceptance Vasquez had showed him.

 

“And?”

 

“And I’ve never seen anyone so relaxed about the possibility of losing a hundred and fifty million dollars,” Faraday said pointedly.

 

“Well that’s just it,” Vasquez said. “We didn’t lose it, did we? Can’t lose what we haven’t gotten yet.”

 

“I guess,” Faraday said, not really knowing what Vasquez was talking about.

 

“Look,” Vasquez said with a sigh. “I used to be more entitled about the things I’d steal. But the fact is…I don’t know, no matter how you slice it we’re still criminals, guero. And that money? It’s not ours. Doesn’t belong to us. It’s only ours after we’ve gotten away with it.”

 

Vasquez leaned on the table, shrugging as he drummed his fingers on the surface.

 

“Look I’m good at my job and I like doing it. And it’s always nice when the marks deserve it. But even then, it’s hard to get too upset about something we shouldn’t be doing in the first place. That’s all.”

 

Faraday kind of saw what Vasquez was getting at. He had just grown up with such an entitled class of criminal that he wasn’t used to such a philosophical approach about it.

 

“And I’m sure you’ll tell me if I’m wrong,” Vasquez added dryly, “but I’m pretty sure it’s not the money you were most upset about last night either, guero.”

 

He was doing that thing where he was looking straight through Faraday, and Faraday’s throat felt too dry to respond, even if he’d known what to say to that. But then there was a knock on the door which had to be for their food.

 

“I’ll go,” Vasquez said getting to his feet. Faraday absently started clearing off the table they’d been lounging around, and then suddenly felt a tightness in his chest for how domestic it felt.

 

Okay, so he could admit he was beyond attracted to the man at this point, and he was reasonably sure it went both ways. But he just…he couldn’t be sure how deep it ran with Vasquez, and what Vasquez even wanted from him. Someone to flirt with to make the work go faster? Someone to have victory sex with if it went well? Or ‘might as well’ sex with if it went badly?

 

Faraday had never really seen what the fuss was about with sex, although he’d certainly tried his damndest to enjoy it in his younger days. But he knew instinctively it was something he’d enjoy with Vasquez. Too much. And while he wanted to act on the signals Vasquez was giving out, _really_ wanted to, he just couldn’t help feeling that a hookup was all Vasquez was ultimately after. No one had ever been after more than that from Faraday before, so why would it be any different now? Especially when the other person was someone as out of his league as Vasquez.

 

He _did_ want to hook up with Vasquez, but damn it all, somewhere along the way he’d messed it up because he wanted _more_. And if Faraday had been dragging his feet on giving Vasquez a clear signal back it was because even if Vasquez also wanted more now, he wouldn’t once he knew what a complete and total pack of issues Faraday really was.

His ears pricked up to Vasquez and the room service waiter.

 

“Thanks, I’ll bring it in,” Vasquez was saying, and then there was a crinkle of bills.

 

“Thank you very much, sir.”

 

“What’s this?”

 

“The Game Night Deluxe Set comes with a complimentary six-pack, sir.”

 

“We won’t be needing that, thanks.”

 

“There’s no additional charge, sir –“

 

“No don’t worry, have happy hour with the staff.”

 

“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your meal.”

 

Vasquez wheeled the cart into the room. It was loaded with the junk food combo of burgers, fries, chicken, and pizza that Vasquez had damn near lost his mind over when they’d looked at the room service menu. Faraday had no idea how the guy stayed as skinny as he did with his eating habits. Faraday himself had always leaned towards the more solid side, which could easily swing into overweight territory if he didn’t limit himself at least _occasionally_. But Vasquez could seemingly demolish any piece of junk food on the planet while somehow staying skinny as a rake, because the world was unfair like that.

 

“God I’m starving,” Vasquez said. He walked over to the minifridge and fished out a couple Pepsis, plunking one in front of Faraday and then dug immediately into his double burger, managing to fit some French fries in his mouth at the same time.

 

Faraday stared at the Pepsi in front of him. In his periphery Vasquez was wholeheartedly focused on his food but Faraday still felt like a spotlight was on him.

 

“Okay,” Faraday said quietly. “How did you know.”

 

Vasquez looked up at him with a line between his eyebrows. “Know what?”

 

Faraday tore his eyes away from the can of Pepsi and met Vasquez’s eyes.

 

“That I don’t drink,” he said bluntly, heart hammering.

 

Vasquez stilled and looked like he was debating his answer. He wiped his mouth slowly as he appraised Faraday.

 

“Because I’ve never seen you drink,” he said carefully. “Even when the others are drinking you just have soda or juice.”

 

Faraday was staring at him and Vasquez eyed him hesitantly.

 

“And if anyone ever offers you a drink you just joke it off every time.”

 

Faraday bit his lip and Vasquez leaned in slightly.

 

“Guero, you don’t have to tell me why,” he said gently. “But it wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

 

And here was Faraday thinking he was so slick about the many ways he’d learned to brush off alcohol without people feeling compelled to ask why.

 

“None of the others seemed to notice,” was all Faraday could think of to say.

 

“Yeah well,” Vasquez said with a shrug. “Like I said…noticing things is my job, isn’t it?”

 

He cracked a small smile at Faraday and went back to eating his meal.

 

Faraday sat there not touching his food. He wasn’t sure when exactly Vasquez had noticed, but it must have been early on. And if he hadn’t distanced himself from Faraday yet…

 

Faraday dug into his pocket for the chip that was always there and flicked it at Vasquez who caught it.

 

“Hi. I’m Josh and I’m an alcoholic,” Faraday drawled to cover up the way his pulse was racing. They were words he’d said hundreds of times before, just never outside of a meeting.

 

And they were words it had taken him a while to believe too. But growing up with parents like his, where the business was surrounding him since he was born, it was hard to know what was ‘drinking a lot’ and what was just ‘business’. It seemed like every night his childhood home was packed with members of the old guard criminal underworld, all of them swanning around with tumblers full of whiskey that sloshed as they let out belly laughs, or martinis that glimmered in heavily jeweled hands. Sometimes those hands would pass Faraday a sip or more than a sip, laughing if the son of the two renowned criminals ever got dizzy or silly, because he was ‘ _such a precocious thing, isn’t he?_ ’ The life of crime was the only life he knew, and as it turned out the life of crime was one that had a lot of liquor in it. And by the time he was fifteen, Faraday was already a functioning alcoholic.

 

Vasquez was staring softly at the chip, and rubbed the edge with his thumb.

 

“Six years? De veras?”

 

Faraday shrugged. “Was a bit hit and miss at first. But that’s where I’m at with the latest attempt.”

 

Faraday pushed his fries around adding: “Not that I want to say this is the one that’ll stick though. One day at a time and all that.”

 

Vasquez nodded and handed the chip back to him.

 

“Six years is still a lot of days though.”

 

“And don’t I know it,” Faraday said deadpan and Vasquez’s mouth ticked up.

 

Faraday tucked the chip back into his pocket and started on his food, reflecting on his own rocky road towards sobriety. He hadn’t even wanted to quit at first. He’d been drinking ever since he could remember, and it was the only way he knew how to work. He’d done almost every single job half drunk until the age of thirty. But somehow the work was always good, and Faraday knew it was the only reason any team kept him around. And he thought if he lost drinking he’d lose his entire skill set as well. And then why would anyone keep him around?

 

Faraday didn’t know how to put that to words. It was hard enough admitting inside his own head, let alone saying out loud in front of someone else.

 

“Probably a miracle I never blew myself up to be honest,” Faraday muttered, finally taking a bite out of his own burger. Vasquez visibly stilled at that, but then he took a sip of Pepsi and swallowed.

 

“Glad you didn’t,” he said simply.

 

They ate in silence, one of them turning on the TV at some point, the sounds of some sports game or another filling the room which made things feel a little more relaxed. Faraday’s mind was still spinning. He wasn’t sure, but if Vasquez hadn’t run off at this point, maybe…maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t do it at all.

 

While they were cleaning up the table Faraday mumbled:

 

“Look, don’t mention it to the others. The drinking that is. I don’t want ‘em to know that I used to be _that_ much of a screwup.”

 

“Whatever you want,” Vasquez said. “Don’t really think they’d fault you too much for it though.”

 

“Yeah well. Just don’t want to give anyone even more excuses to hate my guts,” Faraday said, trying for a self-deprecating tone.

 

Vasquez was looking at him oddly, and if Faraday didn’t know better he’d say something about the man’s expression was almost pained.

 

“None of them feel that way, amigo. Trust me.”

 

Faraday shrugged as they sat back down at the table, and he began to deal some more cards out.

 

“I know I’m not the easiest person to work with sometimes,” Faraday said in a low voice, the words surprising him. He didn’t know what he was saying really, he just felt like he wanted to give Vasquez fair warning. Some kind of an out if the man still wanted one.

 

Vasquez was putting his cards together, sorting his pairs and placing them down on the table, and he asked: “What are you saying?”

 

“Look, I can be…a challenge,” Faraday said. “But –”

 

“Guero,” Vasquez interrupted him and Faraday looked back up at him, their eyes meeting over the table.

 

“I _like_ challenges,” Vasquez said simply. And there was a faint smile at the edges of his mouth.

 

Faraday couldn’t help the way his lips parted slightly, and he stared uncertainly at Vasquez who just nodded at him, his eyes soft. And he felt the air leave his lungs as he searched dumbly for something to say.

 

“Right,” he said. “Well. Okay then. Um…”

 

Vasquez’s mouth was still curved as he watched Faraday’s attempts at coherency, and then taking some mercy on him he said: “So, are you playing or what?”

 

Faraday blinked at looked at his cards. Vasquez had already placed his cards on the table. It was up to Faraday to decide if he would too.

 

Faraday cleared his throat.

 

“Do you have any nines?” he asked, affecting a casual tone, but his heart picking up and smoothing out into a beat that was laced with something that might have been a low thrum of giddiness.

 

Vasquez smiled.

 

“Go fish.”

 

*

 

 

Sam walked through the halls of the Gold Rush’s hotel, trying to practice what he’d say to Goody. He’d waited long enough to tell him. The longer they’d prepped for the job, the more it had felt like a regular kind of job, one that Sam had no personal investment in. It had been easy to convince himself that this was a normal job just like any other.

 

But earlier that day he’d been standing on a balcony looking out over the floor of the Gold Rush’s casino, feeling a cold satisfaction at the thought of taking it all down.

 

And then his phone had rang. It was Ava calling to say hi. Sam almost hadn’t picked it up. He was still pretending he had no deeper motivation for this job. But her voice had reminded him about why he’d agreed to do this. To make things right for his family, plain and simple.

 

And Goody? He was family too. And Sam wasn’t doing right by him by keeping him in the dark.

 

So he made his way through the halls of the hotel, heading over to Goody’s room, hoping the entire time that his partner wouldn’t think less of him for what he was going to share.

 

He came to Goody’s door and knocked on it before he could second guess himself. He waited and knocked again. And then Goody was opening the door. It looked like he’d gotten dressed quickly, his hair wet and a towel around his neck.

 

“Sam,” he said surprised to see Sam there.

 

“Just checking in,” Sam said. “Can I come in?”

 

“Um,” Goody said awkwardly. Sam looked at him, puzzled by how fidgety Goody suddenly looked. And then behind Goody, Sam saw Billy coming out of the bathroom, shirt open and doing up his cuffs, his hair in a similarly wet state as Goody’s.

 

“Hey, Sam,” said Billy as though they met like this all the time.

 

“Hey, Billy,” Sam said without batting an eye. Billy disappeared from view and Sam raised an eyebrow at Goody who didn’t look guilty exactly, but certainly looked sheepish.

 

“Well come on in,” Goody said, opening the door wider. “Billy was just about to head to his shift.”

 

Billy had grabbed his jacket, the rest of him buttoned and tucked in. Other than the wet, faintly disheveled hair he looked every inch as put together as he normally did.

 

He walked towards the door where Sam and Goody were still lingering, not a trace of self-consciousness in his manner.

 

“See you tomorrow, Sam,” he said.

 

“Yup,” Sam agreed.

 

And then Billy was turning to Goody, a slight smile on his face. And he leaned in to kiss Goody as though making a point, openly, deliberately, and taking his sweetass time about it too. Meanwhile Sam took the opportunity to fully appreciate what nice wallpaper the hotel had.

 

Billy pulled back looking satisfied.

 

“See you guys,” he said. And he threw his jacket over his shoulder and walked out of the room, as coolly as you like, Goody staring after him dopily all the while.

 

Sam cleared his throat and Goody blinked himself back to the room, closing the door, motioning for Sam to come in further.

 

“Well you two certainly seem to have worked things out,” Sam said dryly.

 

“You really surprised?” was all Goody said, looking at Sam hesitantly.

 

“I knew you liked him,” Sam said, as it had been obvious from the get go. “Just didn’t know you guys had acted on it yet.”

 

“Look I _know_ how you feel about people getting involved on jobs,” Goody said. “But –”

 

“Goody,” Sam sighed. “You’re a grownass man, I’m not really about to tell you who you can or can’t get involved with. I just think it’s risky on a job. That’s all.”

 

“We’ve been careful about it,” Goody said raising an eyebrow at him. “Although I would have hoped you’d know that without me telling you.”

 

“I’m sure you have,” Sam said, momentarily forgetting what he’d come here to say. “I mean it makes things risky when the jobs get personal. You know how I feel about that.”

 

Goody was staring at Sam piercingly, and if Sam were made of lesser stuff he would have been squirming at how intent Goody’s gaze was.

 

“What, like this whole job isn’t personal already?” Goody asked him pointedly.

 

They stared at each other across the carpet. Sam looked at him uncertainly and Goody’s face softened as he looked at Sam.

 

“I bumped into Ava the other day, Sam,” Goody said gently.

 

Sam felt himself deflate almost instantly.

 

“Oh,” Sam said, looking down. Here he’d been trying to figure out how to tell Goody, but turns out he already knew and had been letting Sam save face. Frankly it was more than Sam felt he deserved at this point. Especially after coming in here and acting like a damn hypocrite.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were in it for Ava?” Goody asked him softly and Sam felt a pang of guilt. He he’d been worried about Goody judging him for his motives, but really…Sam had mostly been judging himself.

 

“Because I’m always telling you that only suckers play for personal reasons, and here I am doing exactly that,” Sam said. “How could I expect you to take me seriously again?”

 

“What makes you think I take you seriously now?” Goodnight scoffed, but he was smiling gently.

 

“Just didn’t want you to think less of me,” Sam said, forcing himself to say it. And Goody looked practically pained.

 

“Do you really think that’s what would have happened?” Goody said incredulously. “Sam I’ve been looking up to you half my adult _life_. I’m not about to stop just because you have a human emotion once every ten years. If anything, telling me why would have just made me agree to help faster.”

 

Sam looked at him uncertainly and Goody took a step towards him.

 

“You’re Sam Chisolm, the best damn criminal I know, and the best friend I’ve ever had,” Goody said quietly. “There’s _nothing_ you could tell me that would make me think less of you. Nothing.”

 

Sam was surprised at how emotional he suddenly genuinely felt, as well as the palpable weight that lifted off his shoulders.

 

“Okay then,” he said.

 

“Okay then,” Goody agreed.

 

They stood there on the carpet shuffling their feet, and Sam looked back up at Goody, still feeling guilty.

 

“I was going to tell you,” Sam said sincerely, willing Goody to believe him. “That’s why I was coming here now.”

 

“Oh I see,” Goody said nodding seriously. “So you just thought you’d wait until I was having the best shower sex of my life, is that it?”

 

Sam opened his mouth uselessly, while Goody stared hard at him. And then Goody broke into a wicked grin.

 

“Just kidding. We were already finished.”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

Goody was laughing and Sam rolled his eyes.

 

“Should have thrown you in the canal back when I had the chance.”

 

“Yes you should have.”

 

But it didn’t feel awkward anymore, and they were both grinning. Sam put his hands in his pockets, not entirely sure where to go. Goody was eyeing him thoughtfully.

 

“Hey, remember what we used to do the night before a job?” Goody asked him.

 

Sam cracked a smile.

 

“How could I forget?”

 

Half an hour later they were sprawled on the couch in fluffy bathrobes, deep into a bottle of red, while the TV’s Italian channel played a dubbed version of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

 

“That guy doing Redford is unbelievable,” Sam said interestedly as he watched Sundance tell off Butch in florid Italian.

 

“God I’m rusty,” Goodnight complained, holding out his wine glass for Sam to pour more into.

 

“It’ll come back,” Sam said, listening to the bandits arguing in rapid-fire Italian that almost matched the actors’ mouths. “Hey Goody…”

 

“Mmm?” Goody said, still staring at the screen.

 

“Sorry for going all self-righteous before –”

 

“Hey Sam?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“ _Sta’zitto._ ”

 

Sam’s lips twitched. “Fine.” He knew Goody telling him to shut up was him telling Sam ‘no hard feelings’.

 

“So with Billy…” Sam said hesitantly taking another sip of wine. “Is it serious?”

 

Goody had a soft smile on. “I think so.”

 

“Good,” Sam said meaning it. “I like him.”

 

“Me too,” Goody said sending a droll grin Sam’s way. Sam snorted and Goody slumped back against the cushions and sighed.

 

“Can’t believe what he’s been through,” he said shaking his head. “Tell you what, there’s nothing more I want at this point than to just get him out.”

 

Sam hummed in agreement. Although…

 

“It’s not gonna be easy right away,” he said carefully, not wanting Goody to think he was discouraging him from a future with Billy, because that’s not what he was doing. “Just because someone gets out of a bad situation doesn’t mean they realize it all at once.”

 

“You’re preaching to the choir, _mio amico_ ,” Goody said dryly, taking another sip of wine. But then he sighed.

 

“If he needs time after getting out, hell there’s nothing I wouldn’t give him. Time and space included. But god I hope he decides he wants this instead,” Goodnight said quietly.

 

“He’s a fool if he doesn’t,” Sam said simply.

 

Goodnight pretended to clutch his chest. “Sam Chisolm, you flatter me. You use that silver tongue on Miss Emma too?”

 

Sam determinedly ignored Goody's mischievous expression.

 

“ _Sta’zitto_.”

 

Goody laughed as he elbowed Sam. Sam took another sip of wine.

 

“Time and space,” Sam finally said, echoing Goody. “No way she’d be ready now. But if she thinks it’s something she wants later…”

 

“She’s a fool if she doesn’t,” Goody said with a grin but it was sincere. Sam reached out to top off his glass but Goody stopped him.

 

“Better not,” he said with a sigh. “Three is enough to give me a headache these days.”

 

“Lucky son of a bitch,” Sam said. “All it takes for me is two.”

 

Goody sighed again. “When did we get so old, Sammy?” he asked, slumping against Sam.

 

“You're only forty-three” Sam said glumly, a faint buzz from the wine hitting him. “At least you’re still _in_ your forties.”

 

“Yeah but still,” Goody said. “I’m not as fast on the draw anymore. Not as flexible either…”

 

“Did _not_ ask.”

 

“Not in _that_ scenario,” Goody said laughing. “But just in general. Remember when we were nothing but energy and ambition?”

 

“I don’t know. Robbing a casino feels plenty ambitious to me.”

 

Goody snorted. “I suppose. If we pull it off that is.”

 

It fell silent, the only sound coming from the television as Butch and Sundance scrambled up a cliff.

 

“Do you think we will?” Sam asked keeping his voice even, although he suddenly felt that familiar spike of adrenaline.

 

Goody turned his head towards him.

 

“Do you?”

 

“I wouldn’t be doing a job if I didn’t think we could,” Sam said. “It’s just…”

 

“…this one is bigger and riskier in every single way conceivable?”

 

“That,” Sam said. Goodnight leaned back against the cushions. Sam did the same and they continued to watch the movie, Butch and Sundance having made it to a ledge on the cliff, looking for a way out.

 

“You nervous?” Goody asked him suddenly.

 

“I should hope so,” Sam said dryly and Goody sighed his agreement, Italian-Butch now telling Sundance that “ _la caduta”_ would probably kill him.

 

“Hey Sam?”

 

“What?”

 

“Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

And on the screen, Butch and Sundance leapt off the cliff and into the rapids below, their fates unknown.

 

 

 

 


	9. The Heist: Part I

 

 

 

Vasquez took one last look over all of his equipment, straightened out his microphone minutely, and nodded to himself. He cast a critical eye over all the screens covering his desk, confirmed that he had eyes on every part of the casino he needed to, and angled the screens towards him, all of them in his periphery no matter where he turned his head. He was ready to go, and he glanced behind him to see if Sam was too.

 

“Amigo? It’s almost that time.”

 

Sam nodded and finished doing up his tie. He spread his arms for Vasquez’s approval.

 

“How do I look?” he asked, and Vasquez grinned at the fake facial hair.

 

“Perfectly respectable. Good thing I know you better, huh?”

 

Sam snorted and buttoned his jacket. When Sam had asked Goody to help him pick out a suit, Goody’s eyes had fairly gleamed at the chance to dress Sam in something other than black. Sam had turned down all the pale suits Goody kept producing, but Goody had eventually haggled him down to a navy. Paired with the dark red and blue tie, it was pitch perfect.

 

Sam walked over to Vasquez’s desk, leaning over it and tapping the microphone.

 

“Can everyone hear me?”

 

The transmitter in his ear crackled briefly as the rest of the team opened their lines up back to him.

 

**< G: Yes.  >**

**< B: Yes.  >**

**< R: Yup.  >**

**< F: God, is that you?  >**

**< H: Now look, son, even if that’s not taking the Lord’s name in vain, you still –  >**

“Good,” Sam said with finality. “Now listen up, men. You’ve all done some excellent work, and there’s no reason for tonight to go any different. We all know this plan inside and out. And as long as you all continue to show the same quality of work you’ve shown me so far, there’s no reason everything won’t go our way.”

 

He was met with a chorus of agreeing murmurs in his ear, and Sam felt the familiar thrill of the chase pulse through him. He leaned in again towards the microphone.

 

“But don’t forget…getting in is the easy part. Half of all robberies are stopped on the way out. So even when we break in, don’t lose sight of the end goal. Let’s all keep our heads in the game, and by the end of the night we’ll all be walking out of here with what we came for, and there’s not a damn thing Bogue will be able to do about it. Sound good?”

 

There was a crackle of appreciative sounds in his ear, and Sam turned to Vasquez, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

“All yours.”

 

Vasquez winked at him, and turned to his mic, clearing his throat.

 

“Two minutes out, amigos. Checking positions now. Horne, what’s your status?”

 

**< H: At the bar, tab opened and paid for in advance.  >**

“Claro. Red? Status.”

 

**< R: In costume and position.  >**

Vasquez glanced up at one of his monitors, smiling at the blurry image of Red among the slot machines.

 

“Nice hair, Pippi.”

 

**< R: Fuck off.  >**

“Faraday, what’s your status?”

 

**< F: Taking over position…now.  >**

Vasquez looked at the camera overlooking Faraday’s blackjack table just in time to see Faraday tap the previous dealer on the shoulder, and take over the dealer position, immediately shuffling the cards deftly. Faraday glanced up and stared right into the camera, winking where he knew Vasquez was watching him. Vasquez felt his lip tug up in response.

 

“Cute. Goody, eyes on Billy?”

 

Down on the casino floor, Goodnight adjusted his cufflinks as he glanced over to the steps, still empty.

 

“Not yet.”

 

 **< V: Well where is he?  > **came Vasquez’s voice in Goody’s ear.

“He’s still got fifteen seconds,” Goodnight drawled, clearly referencing Vasquez’s second-by-second itinerary for the night which all the others had given him shit for. But Vasquez had remained firm, saying he was all for improvising and changing the plan when needed, but you can’t do that if there’s not a clear plan in place already.

**< V: Billy, what’s your status?  >**

There was silence on the line and Goodnight felt a flicker of unease, remembering how tense Billy had seen when he’d come back to Goodnight’s room early that morning, climbing into bed with him, and crushing his lips to his with a desperation Goodnight could almost taste, whispering “Can we…”

 

Goodnight had been half expecting Billy to ask him to leave with him and say to hell with the job, let’s just run away together. But whatever had been troubling Billy was swallowed back down, leaving the rest of the sentence a mystery. Goodnight figured it was just cold feet though. He suspected that such a thing before a job wasn’t typical for Billy, judging by the way Billy had seemed almost embarrassed by his nerves the next morning. But Goodnight couldn’t fault him for having anxieties about the job. Billy had more riding on this one than any of them.

 

“Billy?” Goodnight chimed in on the line.

 

**< B: Look up.  >**

Goodnight glanced up and felt a rush of relief and warmth, quickly followed by a punch of awe for how jaw-droppingly _gorgeous_ Billy looked. He was at the top of the stairs, in a customary slim dark suit, but the shirt underneath was a bright pearl-grey, open at the collar, showing the slightest cut of skin. His hair was ruffled slightly, hanging over his eyes which were smiling at Goody as he walked down the staircase, and when he got closer Goodnight could see an earring dangling from one ear. Some kind of fang?

 

Billy drew level with him, and Goodnight could see it was actually a shark tooth. And the following burst of sudden affection he felt was every bit as sharp as Billy looked.

 

“You,” Goody said, feeling a little lightheaded, Billy’s eyes dancing in amusement at him. There was no trace of his anxiety from the previous night, and he was all cool composed calm, holding himself steadily and relaxed. Goodnight was struck with an image of what Billy must have been like as a criminal before getting caught. Smooth, sleek, steady…not to mention sexy as fuck.

 

Goodnight remembered in time to not voice any of this, since technically he was in character. He knew that Billy hated most of his suits and probably wanted to burn them after this was done. But he made a mental note to ask Billy to keep the earring.

 

“Big night, isn’t it, Mister Rocks?” was all Goodnight said.

 

Billy nodded in agreement, opening his mouth. Whatever he was going to say was cut off and Goodnight felt a presence looming behind him.

 

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” came a familiar cracked, reedy voice.

 

“Bart,” Goodnight said jovially as he turned around. “Have a nice trip?”

 

Bogue didn’t reply, just stared at Goodnight.

 

“I just saying to Billy here what a big night it is,” Goodnight added. “Thanks for finding the time to squeeze me in. I know how busy you are.”

 

“Mm hmm,” Bogue said distractedly, as he looked piercingly at Goodnight. “Seems like you’ve been pretty busy yourself, haven’t you?”

 

Goodnight cocked his head. “Don’t rightly follow you,” he said, looking at Bogue uncomprehendingly, the picture of innocence even though he felt his stomach dropping. What was Bogue talking about? Had he somehow gotten wind of Goody keeping company with Billy? Or worse, keeping company with anyone else on the crew?

 

But Bogue was breaking out into a sudden smile.

 

“I mean calling the dean at my nephew’s university! There he was, about to be expelled, and then the dean is telling me not to worry about it because she owes some guy named Orson Calloway a favour!”

 

Goodnight relaxed. “Aw hell, you weren’t supposed to hear about that,” he said.

 

“Well sure made my life easier,” Bogue said with a roll of his eyes at his wayward nephew’s antics. “Was sure he was gonna be expelled for good this time. That dean has never liked him after the last time he got in trouble.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” Goodnight said. “The dean’s a personal friend.”

 

“You sly dog! How personal are we talking here?” Bogue asked with a grin that was repellant in its familiarity.

 

“Known her a while,” Goodnight said pleasantly, although he felt somewhat irritated by the presumption, not for his own sake, but on behalf of said dean who in fact _was_ a personal friend. She hadn’t been pleased by the request but had been willing to postpone the expulsion, until Goodnight gave her the all-clear.

 

 **< S: Is she the one you stole those Vatican papers for?  > **came Sam’s voice over the comms.

 

Goodnight hummed in affirmation, and seeing Bogue’s attention was currently occupied by a reporter looking for a soundbite about the evening’s fight, he turned away, adding, “And I didn’t _steal_ them. Just borrowed. She needed them to finish her thesis. They were old documents that belonged in a museum, but the Vatican was being, shall we say, ‘selfish’ about public access.”

 

**< H: You stole…from the _Vatican_?  >**

**< F: Up top, dude.  >**

Goodnight’s lips twitched. Then Bogue was turning back to them.

 

“Do a sweep of the floor with me before the fight,” he said, not asking. “I know Billy’s given you the full tour, but I gotta make the rounds anyways and you should see the place when it’s _really_ packed.”

 

His chest puffed out importantly he turned away, Goodnight nodding in assent as he joined him, and they began to walk with Billy falling into place behind them. At one point Bogue looked back at him.

 

“And what the hell is that in your ear, Rocks?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Goodnight thought for a second he was talking about Vasquez’s custom earpieces and tensed up. Those things were about the size of a grain of rice, nearly impossible to see unless you were looking.

 

“Since when do you wear an earring?” Bogue elaborated. “You look ridiculous.”

 

**< V: Well _I_ think it’s cool, Billy. >**

**< R: Word.  >**

**< V: You can’t even see him, amigo.  >**

**< R: Earrings are always cool.  >**

“Tribute to Dash Manning, right?” Goody said, cutting off the peanut gallery in his ear. “Nice touch, although I suppose he has to take it out when he’s fighting tonight. Wouldn’t want to lose an ear in the match.”

 

“Forget losing an ear, he’s just gonna lose period,” Bogue snorted.

 

“I take it your money’s on Hunter Maddox, then?” Goodnight asked, referring to the other boxer in the night’s big match.

 

“Well officially I’m not supposed to bet on anyone,” Bogue said, pausing to shake hands with a couple sponsors. “But unofficially, yes. Maddox is gonna win.”

 

“Hmmm,” Goodnight said noncommittally with a casual shrug, trying not to smile.

 

“What, care to test your luck?” Bogue asked with oily humour.

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Goodnight said. “Seeing as how Manning’s gonna knock him out in the first round.”

 

“Not a chance,” Bogue said, barking out a laugh. “But you’re on.”

 

“Then it’s a bet,” Goodnight said easily. “But I’m afraid that tonight, Mr. Bogue, you are losing your money.”

 

And then he looked over his shoulder and gave Billy a lopsided grin and a shrug as if to say, ‘Couldn’t resist.’

 

They made their way around he floor, stopping whenever various casino employees needed to clear something with Bogue, or when VIPs stopped to greet him or get a photo-op, all wanting some face time with one of the richest men in Vegas. Bogue seemed to enjoy the attention, but Goodnight could tell his patience was wearing thin. For all that Bogue apparently liked being the most powerful in a room full of people, he didn’t seem to like people very much at all.

 

They wound their way through the packed floor, everyone in their glittering best, voices raising above each other’s excitedly. And as they approached the sea of blackjack tables, one voice stood out above the rest.

 

“…step right up, right this way, test your luck while the table’s still hot – oh Mr. Bogue!”

 

They stopped as Faraday called out to their little crew from behind his blackjack table. He was standing tall surrounded by guests, red vest shining under the casino lights. He was looking beseechingly over at Bogue with pitch-perfect professionalism as he beckoned them over.

 

“This one started acting up, sir,” he said, pulling out an automatic card shuffler from under the blackjack table. “Stopped using it to be on the safe side, but it needs a manager’s authority before it can be taken of the floor, so if you or Mr. Rocks…”

 

Bogue’s lips went thin at one more thing to deal with on a busy night, but he picked up the card shuffler, holding it up to the light, running his fingers up the seams of the machine. He pressed a button on the side and the machine gave a feeble whirring sound.

 

“Very well,” Bogue said, handing it off to Billy without looking at him. “Get rid of this, Billy.”

 

Billy took the shuffler, snapping it into a large, black briefcase. They were about to turn away when the manager for the casino’s hotel manager came scurrying up to them with an anxious expression, dragging a chambermaid behind him who looked scared out of her wits.

 

“Mr. Bogue, that is, Mr. Bogue, sir,” he said nervously.

 

“Oh for god’s sake, what now?” Bogue asked irritably.

 

The hotel manager looked uncertainly around the throngs of people in their sparkling attire who were all staring to glance curiously over at the collection of management figures on the floor.

 

“Perhaps we ought to speak off the floor, sir,” the hotel manager said, mopping his brow.

 

“You think I have time to hold office meetings tonight?” Bogue asked him incredulously. “Whatever it is, spit it out.”

 

The hotel manager glanced around again, and leaned in to say in as low a voice as he could among the casino clamor, “Loretta here was cleaning one of the rooms, and while she was in there she found some equipment that looks like…that looks like its for making bombs, sir.”

 

Bogue jolted back as if electrocuted.

 

“Are you out of your damn mind telling me this here?” he hissed, his eyes flashing.

 

“What room?” Billy asked the hotel manager immediately.

 

“304,” the manager replied, looking at the chambermaid for confirmation, and when she nodded he released her and she immediately took off.

 

Billy and Goodnight looked at each other. 304 was Faraday’s room, although naturally under a different name. Faraday himself still had an ear on the conversation, trying to look just generically concerned, not like someone who had any personal investment in the topic.

 

“It’s unmistakable,” the manager said in a hushed voice. “Fuses, wiring, putty….so I came to find you and Mr. Rocks. Protocol states to call the FBI first, which I did, and then to immediately begin an evacuation procedure.”

 

“We can’t evacuate!” Bogue practically exploded, and now more people were beginning to turn around.

 

“Why don’t we find a room to discuss?” Goodnight proposed, and it wasn’t met with any objections. He was a familiar enough face around the casino by now, and everyone seemed to accept him as a new part of security in everything but on paper.

 

They made their way off the floor, Bogue fuming all the while. They went through a staff-only door, and into the maze of bare taupe hallways that made up an entire world behind the plush, glitzy heart of the casino. If the casino floor was the heart, then they were now in the building’s nervous system.

 

They stepped into an anonymous, camera-less conference room, and once the door beeped shut behind them, Bogue was whirling around, repeating, “We are _not_ evacuating.”

 

“Sir, it’s protocol,” the hotel manager said weakly.

 

“What it _is_ , is Fight Night!” Bogue exploded. “You know, the night that where we get gain ten percent of our annual revenue _total,_ the night that ensures we stay open for another year, the night that makes us stand out from all the other cut-rate casinos on the strip! No, absolutely not, out of the question. Evacuating would kill us from a PR standpoint.”

 

No one pointed out that not evacuating could just kill them in general if there really was a bomb.

 

“And _you,_ how could you let this happen!” Bogue said, wheeling around on Billy. “Security is _your_ job, and all of a sudden people can just walk into my hotels with bombs?”

 

“My team is looking into it,” Billy said stiffly.

 

“Remember me telling you that getting out of your contract depended on how you did on Fight Night?” Bogue sneered. “Well it’s not looking good for you, Rocks, and if this hurts us in any way I swear to god it’s on you.”

 

He looked so venomous it almost would have been comical if it didn’t look like it was taking him every effort to not reach out and throttle Billy. Goodnight stepped in.

 

“Look we’re not getting anywhere,” he said, cutting in smoothly. “You say you’ve already contacted the FBI?” he asked the hotel manager.

 

“They’re sending someone over now, they should be here any minute,” the manager said.

 

“Well then there’s nothing to be done about until then,” Goodnight said, spreading his hands decisively. “We’ll see what he says and then decide. No use evacuating until we’re sure there’s a legitimate reason.”

 

Bogue’s jaw clenched. “Fine.”

 

They waited in tense silence, the hotel manager still sweating nervously, Billy standing impassively by the wall, still holding onto the briefcase that held the faulty card shuffler. Bogue was pacing, looking more and more worked up, and Goodnight did his best to project a sort of general calm over the room.

 

Just then there was a knock on the door. Everyone looked at each other, and the hotel manager was the one to open it up. They all glanced over to see the FBI agent standing in the doorway in a navy suit, holding up a badge, eyes surveying them all between a pair of thick sideburns.

 

“Evening,” said Sam Chisolm as he looked at the room. “Did someone call for the FBI?”

 

 

*

 

Bogue and Sam were still arguing while the rest of them stood around, watching tensely.

 

“You mean to tell me you haven’t already ordered an evacuation?” Sam was thundering. Even though he was just acting, he was still scary like this.

 

“We don’t even know if there’s a real threat yet!” Bogue spat back.

 

“You think that matters when it comes to explosives?” Sam said. “You need me to run through a list of how many domestic terrorism incidents occur because people don’t view bomb-making equipment as a viable enough sign of lethal intent? This casino should have been evacuated the second that equipment was found.”

 

“Domestic terr – what the hell are you talking about?” Bogue hissed. “We’re a casino! Who the hell blows up a casino? Whoever it belongs to is probably just using that room as a place to lay low before going to blow up something else.”

 

Everyone winced, and Bogue seemed to realize how it came off. He switched tactics and tried to resort to oily consideration.

 

“Look it’s Fight Night,” he said insistently to Sam. “We do very well financially on this night. And you could too, if you let us just stay open.”

 

Sam looked disdainfully at Bogue. “Are you attempting to bribe a federal agent, sir?”

 

Bogue went almost purple. “Now you listen here. If we don’t stay open, we’d never recover from the fallout. No one in Vegas would ever ask us to host their events again.”

 

“Not my problem,” Sam said, pulling himself up to his full height and looking at Bogue with a chilling expression. “You know what’s _your_ problem? When every newspaper in the country tomorrow is talking about Batholomew Bogue, and how his direct interference in a criminal investigation, and willingness to put civilians at risk, shows a suspicious amount of criminal activity, including the possible harboring of a potential terrorist. _That_ is your problem, Mr. Bogue.”

 

A muscle was twitching in Bogue’s jaw. He didn’t seem to like anyone as a rule, but Goodnight could tell that he really, _really_ didn’t like Sam.

 

Bogue opened his mouth as if to argue further, but Sam narrowed his eyes warningly.

 

“Just you try me, Bogue,” he said in a low voice.

 

They were staring at each other, the temperature in the room almost seeming to drop while the two forceful personalities engaged in a stare-down. Goodnight didn’t even think Sam was acting anymore while he stared at Bogue with a vengeful expression. Goodnight had seen Sam pull these kinds of staring contests before, and it was not a contest Bogue was going to win.

 

“Garret,” Bogue finally barked out to the hotel manager. “Begin evacuation procedures. And if I hear so much as one person mention the word ‘bomb’, it’ll be on you.

 

The portly hotel manager swallowed and nodded, and left the room immediately.

“Billy,” Bogue said, not looking at Billy, but still looking at Sam with steely eyes. “Work with this suit and whoever else he sends over. And don’t be afraid to take down badge numbers if anyone of them forget their place. Don’t fuck up more than you already have tonight and maybe I’ll reconsider my previous stance on your contract.”

 

Bogue finally turned to Goodnight. “Probably not the night you were expecting, Orson. I’ve got about a thousand fucking officials to deal with to shut everything down. You might as well stick with these two sorry individuals, but good fucking luck dealing with their caliber of person.”

 

And with that he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

 

There was silence in the room for a moment, and then Goodnight was turning to Sam and Billy.

 

“Well, my two favourite sorry individuals,” he said, mimicking Bogue’s imperious tone with a grin. “Shall we get to it?”

 

They both huffed out laughs and immediately got down to business. Billy placed the briefcase on the conference table, opening it up and taking out the card shuffler Faraday had passed to them on the floor. Goodnight and Sam were unbuttoning their suits, revealing matching black clothes and gear underneath.

 

“Nice sideburns by the way,” Goodnight snorted while they swapped out their loafers for practical lace-up black boots. “Almost burst out laughing the second you came in.”

 

“I thought they really brought out my ears,” Sam mused deadpan.“By the way, remind me to ask Josh for a picture of whatever his room looked like to get them rushing down so fast. Didn’t even take a minute for Vasquez to intercept the 911 call.”

 

Goodnight laughed, knowing how gleeful Faraday had been at the chance to decorate his hotel room with dud bombmaking equipment, making it look like a lunatic was staying there and conveniently ‘forgetting’ to change the door sign to ‘do not disturb’.

 

They straightened up, folding their clothes and handing them off to Billy who put them in his briefcase, snapping it shut. Sam picked up the card shuffler and Goodnight turned to Billy.

 

“Well I guess this is it,” he said. “See you on the way out.”

 

Billy nodded, suddenly looking nervous for the first time all evening. Goodnight could tell Bogue’s indirect threats of sending him to prison had gotten to him, and that all the man wanted to do was grab Goodnight by the wrist and take them both away, somewhere no one could find them again.

 

“Hey,” Goodnight said, gently nudging Billy’s chin up. Billy looked at him with the same desperation he’d had last night. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes couldn’t have been begging Goody to stay with him more clearly.

 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Goodnight murmured.

 

“But how do you know that?” Billy whispered.

 

Goodnight smiled.

 

“Because we’ve got you.”

 

Billy let out a breath, steeled himself and nodded. And then he surged forward to kiss Goodnight once, fast but hard. They pulled back and Goodnight ran his thumb over Billy’s chin.

 

“Catch you on the flip side, alright?” he said.

 

Billy nodded. And then he watched as Sam and Goodnight climbed up on to the conference table, dislodged one of the tiles, and hauled themselves up and into the rafters, disappearing from sight.

 

Billy stood there staring at the ceiling for a moment longer with a knot in his stomach. He swallowed and looked back down, collecting himself and taking out his phone. He tapped his earpiece, turning it off so that the others wouldn’t be able to hear what he was about to do, and dialed, raising the phone to his ear with his heart hammering. It picked up and he took in a breath.

 

“911? This is the security manager at the Gold Rush casino. I have reason to believe that we’re going to be robbed.”

 

 

*

 

Vasquez checked his screens, making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be. There was Billy leaving the office they’d been meeting in. Sam and Goody were off the grid, up in the Gold Rush’s interconnecting set of vents and rafters that would take them right down to the hall outside the vault. Horne was at the bar, mingling jovially with the upper echelon of Vegas society while biding his time, and Red was lurking near the slots. Faraday was still busy shuffling and dealing cards and cracking jokes with the various guests around his blackjack table. He’d been more hesitant than usual the past couple of days, but it was good seeing him back to his cocky self.

 

When the tall, swaggering demolitions guy had appeared on the steps that first day with a cocky head tilt at Vasquez and a smartass comment, Vasquez had known immediately where this was going. He’d had enough flirtationships to know that whenever two people goaded each other that much, or talked that much about having sex with the other one’s mother, they were really saying they wanted to have sex with each other instead.

 

He’d certainly found the guy hot, all broad shoulders and sharp grin, and he’d figured that if nothing else, they were pretty much bound to hook up after the job was over. Whether a job went well or not, all that extra adrenaline had to go _somewhere_. And Faraday was a pretty damn appealing option, and one who Vasquez was pretty sure would be game.

 

But gradually Vasquez had come to discover that there was a little more to him than met the eye. That beneath a juvenile sense of humour, there was a terrifyingly sharp individual. That a playful demeanor masked a somewhat acerbic edge. And that despite a careless attitude towards his surroundings, there was someone underneath who actually cared a lot.

 

Vasquez wasn’t _quite_ as together and settled as everyone seemed to think sometimes. If he were really well-adjusted, would he have been doing _this_ job? Oh sure he knew he was good-natured and easygoing and that it took a lot to ruffle him. But maybe that was why he liked the high life and craved the excitement of his job. It balanced him out. And, for that matter, so did Faraday.

 

When Vasquez was a kid he’d loved puzzles, ripping through any workbook his teachers gave him, their patterns gradually revealing themselves to him, laying themselves out before his eyes. And when he’d discovered computers and coding he’d come to discover that there was nothing more he liked than the thrill and delight in cracking a code, discovering how it worked. Small wonder he’d found the bundle of contrasts that was Joshua Faraday so appealing.

 

But for all that Faraday was a walking puzzle, maybe there wasn’t anything complicated about the attraction at all. In the end it all came down to chemistry, and they had that in spades. It wasn’t just that Faraday was smart and hot and that they got along. Vasquez had known plenty of people he’d found attractive and intelligent and whose company he’d enjoyed. The fact of the matter was, from the moment they’d met they’d simply clicked. And Vasquez was looking forward to seeing just how much they continued to do so after the job.

 

Some movement on the screen caught Vasquez’s eye. He zoomed in to see Bogue stepping up to a mic and announcing that a low-priority evacuation would be taking place effective immediately, and for everyone to begin the process of cashing out and making their way towards the exits. He offered an excuse about routine protocols and overcapacity, and a lot of official words that were designed to quell panic while also telling people there was no choice. He said he was announcing it personally rather than using an alarm, out of respect for his guests, and that the casino would be offering complimentary rooms and chips for those inconvenienced. He was pretty slick about the whole thing, but when he stepped away from the mic, Vasquez could see he was scowling deeply. Evacuations were never easy, much less in a casino where emotions were already running high, and over half the guests were probably some form of inebriated.

 

Vasquez leaned forward and pushed a button on his mic.

 

“Horne? You’re up.”

 

Down at the bar, Horne swallowed the rest of his drink and straightened his tie, leaving the VIP area just in time to bump into Bogue as he walked by.

 

“Bart!” Horne said genially. “Just heard. Rough deal, huh?”

 

“Yeah and I’m sure you must be enjoying it thoroughly,” Bogue said snidely, referring to the fact that he’d once sabotaged Horne’s old casino in order to buy it cheap.

 

“Not at all,” Horne said, looking effectively aghast. “Water under the bridge. As the good Lord says, bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”

 

“Uh huh,” Bogue said distractedly, making as though to move past him but was blocked again by Horne’s girth.

 

“Look I’ve had to run an evacuation twice,” Horne said. “Both times for earthquake warnings, but I remember the drill sure enough. I know you’ve probably got to go glad-hand a bunch of fight officials now. But if you like I could keep an eye on the floor for you, wrangle the guests, make sure everything’s going smoothly. Always good to have an extra pair of hands on deck, especially if those hands have run a casino before.”

 

Bogue narrowed his eyes at him “Why would you want to help after everything?”

 

“It’s as the good Lord says!” Horne boomed. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. God is not unjust. He will not forget your work, and the love you have shown him as you help –”

 

“Yeah okay sure, whatever,” Bogue said. “If you really want to, knock yourself out.”

 

Bogue handed him an all-purpose passcard for the casino. The words ‘thank you’ didn’t seem to be in Bogue’s vocabulary, but it was obvious he was relieved to have someone else on board.

 

“Nice,” Vasquez said into the comms as Bogue walked away from Horne. “Red, you’re on standby.”

 

 **< G: Oooh, is he?  > **Goodnight asked eagerly, suddenly chiming back onto the comms. He and Sam must have been back in an area with service again.

 

**< R: Oh god, does everyone have to listen?  >**

 

**< G: You’ll be great, son. Just think of Redford.  >**

**< R: That movie was dumb.  >**

Bogue continued to plow his way through the crowds of people, getting more and more worked up. He was rebuffing all advances form guests or journalists wanting more of an explanation, turning most in the direction of Horne. Others he just snapped at to get out of his way. Bogue was presumably most concerned about maintaining his relationships with sponsors, the petty needs of guests who weren’t VIPs of comparatively little importance. Bogue was almost at the back wall of the casino, and Vasquez leaned into his mic.

 

“Red? He’s all yours.”

 

Red saw the figure of Bogue cutting through, and let out a breath. And then he jumped immediately into Bogue’s path, holding up a camera in his face.

 

“What about the fish?” he demanded out of the blue, and Bogue was so taken aback he actually stopped at stared at Red in disbelief.

 

“The _what_?”

 

“The fish,” Red said again, gesturing aggressively to the aquarium behind him. “What’s the evacuation plan for them?”

 

Bogue continued to stare at Red incredulously.

 

“ _Who_ are you?”

 

“I’m Gary, and I’m with the Animal Liberation Front,” Red said jutting his chin out, with all the self-importance of a college student in a fringe group. “And I want to know what you’re planning to do about the fish. If there’s a threat then they have to be evacuated too.”

 

Bogue was openly scowling now. “I don’t have time to deal with hippies who need a haircut.”

 

“You know I’m filming this, right dude?” Red said loudly, said braids bouncing against his T-Shirt which was green and had a picture of a leaf on it, every inch the active environmentalist.

 

“Put the fucking camera down,” Bogue hissed.

 

“Then tell me what the plan is for the fish!”

 

“They’re fucking _fish!”_ Bogue practically yelled.

 

“So?” Red asked. “What if they were puppies huh? Or kittens? Just because fish don’t conform to what society has decided is ‘cute’, does that mean they have any less right to live?”

 

“Out of my way,” Bogue growled.

 

“This is going on twitter, bro,” Red said, eyes flashing maniacally. “You’re gonna have picketers here every day. The number one post on twitter is gonna be that you’re a meat-eating, animal hating, bloodmouth who doesn’t care about animal cruelty. Every animals rights group is gonna be camped outside your casino, morning until night saying ‘Yes ve gan! Yes ve gan! Yes –“

 

“Alright, alright already!” Bogue spat out. “You wanna evacuate a few fucking goldfish? Go talk to that guy!” he said, gesturing over to the figure of Horne who was making his way over.

 

“Wait, really?” Red said blinking. “I can take out the fish?”

 

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK,” Bogue yelled, finally snapping. “EVACUATE THEM. THROW THEM BACK IN THE OCEAN. TURN THEM INTO SUSHI FOR ALL I CARE. BUT LEAVE. ME. ALONE!”

 

He shoved past Red and marched towards a hallway leaving Red standing there.

 

“Okay thank you!” Red called brightly after him. And there was immediately a crackle of laughter in his ear.

 

**< S: Flawless.  >**

 

**< G: Red, m’boy, you are wasted on recon.  >**

Red couldn’t help his grin. And then Horne approached him, and they ran through a benign pre-arranged script about the poor fish, and yes, Horne was sure there was something they could do about it. And not even a minute later they were at the door which led to the room behind the aquarium, Horne was sliding his new passcode into the door, and they were stepping inside, unnoticed by anyone.

 

The two tank monitors stood up from their tables.

 

“Ay, Red!” they said as everyone bumped fists. “Everything’s ready like you asked.”

 

It had been a risk letting these two employees in on the scheme. But with both Goody and Billy vouching for them, Sam had agreed to cut them in for a small percentage without giving away all the details. The two men had seemed to gather it was to do with taking down Bogue though, and were only too delighted to help out when Goodnight had revealed his real identity to them.

 

“It’s all over here,” the one named Jim said, directing them over to the tank where a bunch of equipment was waiting. “And we’ve already taken her out for you,” he said about the shark, gesturing to the fish that was busy swimming in one of the portable rolling tanks.

 

“Oh thank god,” Red muttered. He’d been half-convinced until now that he’d have to go in and wrestle Billy’s goddamn shark himself. “Alright, thanks guys.”

 

Horne thanked them too and discreetly slipped them each a thick bundle of cash, more than a year’s salary each, and they looked gleefully at each other before saluting Red and Horne and stepping outside, leaving the room over to them.

 

“I can’t believe you ever got someone to believe you’re a vegetarian,” Horne chuckled once they were alone in the cool shadowy room.

 

“Yeah me too,” Red snorted.

 

“Nice braids, by the way.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Are they…traditional?” 

 

“They’re just braids, dude.”

 

“Right,” Horne said meekly, but he clapped his hands together and they got to work, putting all the equipment and costumes for later into place, while Red slipped into the same kind of covert black outfit that Sam and Goodnight were already wearing.

 

“Handy room, this,” Horne said as he finishing arranging everything. “You ready?”

 

Red nodded as he zipped up his shirt and put on a pair of black goggles. And Horne wheeled over a ladder which Red scrambled up, quick as a cat. And in barely a few breaths he was at the top, swinging himself up into the rafters, into the shadows and out of sight.

 

 

*

 

Back in his hotel room, Vasquez checked all his cameras. Now nobody on the team was left on the floor, all of them operating in the areas of the casino that had no cameras. All except for Faraday who was leaving his post and walking through the back hallways right on schedule.

 

“Just you and me now, huh, guero?” Vasquez said idly as he arranged all of his equipment for a quick shutdown. He wasn’t due to leave the room yet, but he liked to be prepared. He glanced up at the screen where Faraday was taking a turn down another corridor, apparently not having registered what Vasquez had said. Vasquez frowned. It wasn’t like Faraday to ignore him. Laugh, or throw another comment back, Faraday always had _something_ to say.

 

Vasquez flicked his microphone. “Joshua?”

 

Still nothing. Faraday walked obliviously through the corridor he was in. And Vasquez remembered the demolition man’s habit of scratching at his earpieces and swore.

 

He pressed a button on his mic, switching over to Sam’s earpiece only.

 

“Sam? Faraday’s earpiece is malfunctioning and he’s heading to our meetup place deaf.”

 

**< S: Damn. Can he make it without triggering security?  >**

“Maybe, but I don’t want to risk it,” Vasquez said. He’d timed Faraday’s walk through the halls down to the second, so that he’d just miss any security groups or cameras that could swing his way. But it was impossible to predict any rogues who might double back.

 

“I’m gonna go mobile early,” Vasquez said, swiftly tapping a few keys to initiate shutdown. “Someone’s gotta intercept him.”

 

**< S: Only if you’re sure.  >**

“Claro,” Vasquez said, already collecting his things. “See you soon.”

 

Vasquez stood up and pressed a button which folded up all his screens automatically, shutting everything down. He put on a wireless headset, clipping all his portable backup equipment to his belt, pulling out a device the size of a palm pilot that had feeds of all the casino cameras linked to it. It could only show one view at a time, but it would alert him to any anomalies on the screen. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any extra security, but he wasn’t about to chance it.

 

“Okay, guerito,” Vasquez muttered. “Just stay out of trouble until I get there.”

 

And he spun his palmpilot in his hand like it was a pistol, tucked it into his belt, and was on the move.

 

 

*

 

Faraday walked through the halls at a steady pace, trying to resist the urge to quicken his steps. Vasquez had warned him that anything quicker than a stroll would bring him face to face with the various security teams who patrolled the area. Faraday was still in his casino uniform, but the deeper he got into the back halls of the casino, the more his presence would be questioned.

 

He turned a corner, paused as he heard the footsteps of a security of team who were shuffling away in the opposite direction, waited until their footsteps faded, and then continued walking. He shook his head and smiled at Vasquez’s practically anal precision which Faraday and the others had mocked heavily, but were certainly benefitting from now.

 

Faraday reached the end of a hallway and was met with a steel-plated door with a digital keypad that led to the bowels of the casino. Faraday himself couldn’t get through there without the codes. He just had to wait until Billy, wherever he was, worked his security magic to open up all the doors automatically. Vasquez would be there by then too, but until then Faraday would have to wait.

 

Faraday leaned against the door, humming idly to himself. It was sort of oppressive to be alone in all the bare, pale hallways with their harsh lighting. Faraday felt like a sitting duck but he knew that Vasquez, lord of the screens, would warn him if anyone was coming his way.

 

He hadn’t heard from Vasquez in a while though. Actually he hadn’t heard anyone speak over the comms in almost fifteen minutes. They were all connected to Vasquez automatically, but could switch in and out of each other’s feeds as needed. He flicked over to Red’s channel which was silent, but that wasn’t unusual. He went to Sam and Goody’s which was also silent, but that _was_ unusual. Those two never stopped chatting.

 

Pulse starting to pick up, Faraday touched his earpiece. “Vas?”

 

Silence. And Faraday immediately felt a wash of panic, because Vasquez didn’t and wouldn’t ignore _anyone_ on the job. Which meant that Faraday had been flying blind for God knows how long now.

 

Faraday heard footsteps approaching and he looked around wildly for a place to hide. But he was alone in a white hallway wearing a scarlet vest, and couldn’t have been a bigger target if he tried. There was a supply closet at the other end of the hall, and maybe, _maybe_ Faraday could just make it. He took off his shoes and ran towards it, silent in socked feet as the other person’s footsteps drew nearer. Fuck he wasn’t going to make it. He put his shoes back on and pulled himself together, walking confidently over to the sound of the footsteps, prepared to bullshit his way out of it, turning the corner and coming face to face with –

 

“ _Vasquez_?”

 

“Idiota,” Vasquez said growling, and pushing Faraday back around the corner.

 

“The hell are you doing here early?” Faraday demanded, although he’d never been so relieved to see anyone in his life.

 

“Maybe I was coming to find your stupid ass, since your earpiece was off,” Vasquez said. “I _told_ you to stop to scratching at it!”

 

“And _I_ told you those things are screwy!”

 

“They are _not!_ ”

 

“Check your stupid cameras, I wasn’t scratching at it at _all_ today –”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Not to mention they could probably fall inside anyone’s ear and –”

 

“Guero, shut _up_.”

 

Vasquez was pulling a small camera off his belt which was beeping steadily. He checked the feed, eyes widening.

 

“Security. Headed this way.”

 

They looked at each other, then at the supply closet they were next to, back at each other, and then were immediately opening it and scrambling inside, pushing each other in.

 

It was cramped inside and almost pitch-black.

 

Faraday let his eyes adjust, Vasquez’s breathing loud in his ear from the way they were pressed together chest to chest. Faraday swallowed at the proximity.

 

“Do you –“

 

Vasquez shifted and then his hand was covering Faraday’s mouth. Vasquez checked his camera feed in the other hand, a faint green glow coming from it, lighting up his eyes. Vasquez was looking intently at the screen, but Faraday couldn’t have torn his eyes away from Vasquez’s flickering ones if he’d tried.

 

The team of security must have gone past them because Faraday felt Vasquez relax against him.

 

“They’re gone,” Vasquez said, pulling his hand away.

 

“Okay,” Faraday said.

 

They looked at each other, and Faraday felt his heart hammering. There was no way Vasquez couldn’t have felt it too, squished together as they were.

 

“Guess we can move now,” Faraday said.

 

“Guess so,” Vasquez said looking intently at him.

 

Neither moved.

 

“Guero,” Vasquez said in a rough voice, his breath tickling Faraday’s lips.

 

“Yeah?” Faraday said feeling dizzy. Their faces were only an inch apart.

 

They stood there staring at each other, pressed together, breathing raggedly, eyes locked.

 

And then they moved at the same time, lips colliding in a hot, messy kiss that seared right through Faraday’s bones.

 

Faraday moaned, a hand flying up into Vasquez’s curly hair, and Vasquez kissed him harder, dirtier, a hot slide of tongues, his hands grabbing at any part of Faraday he could reach.

 

“Oh my god,” Faraday gasped as Vasquez’s hand slipped into his collar so he could curl a possessive hand around the back of Faraday’s neck, kissing him in a clash of teeth. Faraday nipped at Vasquez’s lips and Vasquez growled, tightening his grip as he dipped his head to leave a trail of hard, burning kisses up Faraday’s neck.

 

“Oh fuck yes,” Faraday got out, his hands flying to Vasquez’s waist, knocking his elbow badly against the wall in the process, but it was worth it for the long, sinewy roll of Vasquez’s warm skin beneath his palms.

 

Vasquez groaned and kissed him hard again, open-mouthed and filthy, hands tangling in Faraday's collar, his hips straining against Faraday’s. Faraday couldn’t resist reaching between Vasquez’s legs, and his vision practically whited out.

 

“Fuck, you’re hard.”

 

Vasquez lifted his head to look at him.

 

“Guero, that’s my battery pack.”

 

They stared at each other, breathing hard. And then they immediately lost it, bursting into laughter as they collapsed back in on each other. Faraday was relieved it was so dark, because he was pretty sure he was blushing. But the _actual_ bulge of Vasquez was now rubbing against him, effectively wiping away any residual embarrassment, and Faraday groaned and slid his thigh between Vasquez’s legs.

 

“Fuck, are we really doing this _now_?” Vasquez breathed, rutting against him, his hands running over the muscles in Faraday’s arms, his scruff rubbing distractingly against Faraday’s.

 

“Yeah, guess we probably shouldn’t be playing seven minutes in heaven while on a job,” Faraday got out regretfully.

 

Vasquez pulled back thoughtfully, his chest rising and falling while his eyes glittered in the dark.

 

“Well maybe not seven…but we still have five minutes before the security door out there opens.”

 

“Five minutes, huh?” Faraday asked.

 

They stared at each other again moment, their lips twitching simultaneously, and then were immediately diving back in, mouths working hungrily, hands grasping at each other’s pants which they opened desperately.

 

“This might be a weird time to ask,” Vasquez said raggedly, slipping a hand inside Faraday’s briefs and groaning at the weight of Faraday’s cock in his hand. “But wanna grab dinner after all this?”

 

Faraday could barely answer since his brain had leaked out of his ears the second Vasquez’s long, rough fingers had closed around him. “I –”

 

“What’s that, guero?” Vasquez rumbled in his ear, and Faraday’s knees practically buckled.

 

“Fuck yes.”

 

He could feel Vasquez’s smirk against his neck.

 

“Good.”

 

Their lips were back on each other’s, hard and hungry as they kissed viciously. Wanting to get back at him, Faraday worked a hand inside Vasquez’s jeans, moaning as he felt a damp patch at the front of Vasquez’s briefs. Vasquez’s hips stuttered into his palm and Faraday rubbed him through his briefs, Vasquez breathing harshly into Faraday’s neck.

 

“Guero, I’m gonna come,” he gasped out, and Faraday’s cock actually twitched at the words.

 

“What already?” he taunted with a grin, although it was entirely spurious given how he himself felt like he was about to pass out from how hard he was.

 

“Cabrón, you can’t give me the world’s longest fucking foreplay and then expect me to –“

 

His words were cut off by Faraday crushing his lips to his, thrusting a hand inside his briefs, and slipping his tongue inside Vasquez’s mouth the moment his thumb circled the tip of Vasquez’s cock. And then Vasquez was coming with muffled moan, cock twitching in Faraday’s palm as he spilled in hot bursts into his hand.

 

They pulled back breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, and Faraday felt like he’d been cut open, his every nerve exposed and standing on at the feeling of Vasquez panting against his lips, his brow damp where it was pressed against Faraday’s, and his lips parted, flushed and red.

 

And then with an impressive recovery Vasquez was sinking to his knees, dragging Faraday’s briefs down his hips.

 

“Whatever you’re doing down there you’ve got about three minutes to do it,” Faraday got out weakly. He couldn’t see Vasquez but he could _feel_ the man’s breath hot against his straining erection, his hands splayed wide on his hips, and he could help arching his hips towards Vasquez’s face.

 

“No problem,” Vasquez said in a rough voice, leaning in to wrap his lips around the tip of Faraday’s cock, and the bolt of pleasure that shot down Faraday’s spine was almost painful. To hell with three minutes, Faraday wasn’t even going to last one.

 

Suddenly there was cool air over him again as Vasquez pulled back, reaching for something in his belt. And he slapped his camera feed into Faraday’s palm.

 

“Tell me if anyone’s coming.”

 

Faraday stared helplessly at the screen, Vasquez’s mouth sinking all the way over his throbbing length, and Faraday let his head fall back against the wall.

 

“Oh believe me," he said weakly. "I will.”

 

 

*

 

 

Sam and Goodnight were far below the casino by now, deep in its hallways, only a few more doors to get through before they were at the vault.

 

“Alright, what’s this one?” Goodnight had asked, placing an imprint they’d molded from Billy’s thumb on the scanner.

 

“Seven-two-two-zero-four,” Sam said, reading from the list of passcodes Billy had given them.

 

Goodnight punched it in, and the steel door opened with zero fuss, bringing them to another hallway.

 

“You know I gotta say, this gig is a lot easier with someone actually doing this shit for us in advance,” Goodnight joked. Thanks to Billy’s insider knowledge, getting through all the cage security had made this one of the simplest break-ins he’d done with Sam yet.

 

Sam snorted. “Tell me about it. We should get an inside man for every job after this.”

 

Goodnight sputtered. “Sam Chisolm, we are not even done _this_ job yet, and you’re already planning the next one?”

 

“I’m just saying,” Sam said innocently.

 

“Well say it on the way out,” Goodnight said, knocking his knuckles superstitiously against the wall. “You absolute menace.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“You can fool all the others, but you can’t fool me, you goddamn adrenaline junkie. Now hand me those codes before you give me a heart attack.”

 

Sam laughed and passed them to Goody who punched them into the last door, turning a bunch of dials in the sequence Billy had provided for them. The door made a number of large clanging sounds, and then slid open with a groan to reveal one last hallway.

 

“There she is,” Goodnight murmured looking at the vault at the end of the hallway.

 

Sam whistled. It was the largest and most imposing vault he’d ever seen. The vault door was a large circle covered in gears and handles, and it weighed almost one ton.

 

“You know those things are fire-proof, earthquake-proof, tornado-proof, and flood-proof?” Goodnight said, still staring at it.

 

Sam hummed as he snapped on a pair of gloves and walked up to the door with their card-shuffler. “Time to find out if it’s Faraday-proof.”

 

And he stuck the card-shuffler onto the center of the vault door, because of course it wasn’t just a card-shuffler. It was the bomb that Faraday had built and disguised, and now it was going to get them in.

 

They dissembled the different parts of the shuffler, pulling them away from the center to place all around the circumference of the vault door. Each part was connected to the center by long, glittering, copper wires, four-hundred yards in total, all of them intricately hand-braided by Faraday with surprising delicacy. They created an exquisite golden pattern as Sam and Goody strung them all around the large, circular door, arranging the different parts of the bomb. And by the time they’d finished wiring the door to blow, the pieces of the bomb all connected by the shining maze of copper filaments, the vault door practically looked like a dreamcatcher.

 

“It’s almost too pretty to blow up,” Goodnight said with a sigh.

 

“Almost,” Sam said. And they looked at each other and laughed as they stood well back.

 

“Count me off,” Sam said, holding onto the detonator.

 

“Three,” Goodnight said, and Sam placed his thumb over the button.

 

“Two…”

 

Sam’s finger was tingling.

 

“ _One_.”

 

Sam pressed down.

 

There was a sizzle from the center of the bomb, a loud fizzing sound, and then suddenly a series of sparks _shot_ from the middle, racing around the wires, criss-crossing madly with loud, banging sounds like fireworks as the currents rushed through the wires, circling and racing and crackling wildly, the entire door suddenly lighting up in white-hot blinding gold and then –

 

Sam and Goodnight threw up their arms as the door exploded with an enormous _bang_ , and they were immediately knocked off their feet by the force of the blast. They landed along with a million pieces of vault door that clattered around them, miraculously missing their heads.

 

They lay there with a faint ringing in their ears, pieces of vault door smoking around them. They finally lifted their heads to look lightheadedly at each other.

 

“Holy shit,” Sam said hoarsely.

 

“I think we used enough dynamite,” Goodnight said weakly.

 

Sam huffed out a laugh. And then slowly turned their heads to look back at the door. Or at what used to be the door.

 

There wasn’t a door any longer. Its hinges were smoking, the alarms disabled by the intricacy of the bomb placement. There was just a large metal circle in the wall now. And through that…

 

They looked back at each other and grinned, pulling each other to their feet and they walked slowly towards the smoking door, stepping through, and finding themselves…

 

“We’re in,” Goodnight said with a whoop, and Sam laughed, smacking him on the back as they stared at row upon row of hundred-dollar bills, all of it in large bricks that were stacked as high as the ceiling.

 

“So this is what a hundred and fifty million dollars looks like,” Goodnight said in amazement.

 

“Thought you said stealing plain old money wasn’t exciting,” Sam teased him.

 

“I don’t look excited to you?” Goodnight laughed and they looked back at the walls of cash just waiting to be siphoned off.

 

“Alright,” Sam said, squaring his shoulders. “You ready for phase two?”

 

Goodnight nodded. “Ready.”

 

“Stay where you are.”

 

The curt voice had come from outside the vault. They turned around slowly, and Goody practically felt his stomach drop out.

 

“ _Billy?_ ”

 

Billy was standing in the doorway of the vault. And he was holding a gun which was pointed right at them.

 

“What are you doing, Billy?” Sam asked in a low voice.

 

What I have to,” Billy said firmly, taking a walkie-talkie out of his pocket.

 

“Billy, what’s with the gun?” Goodnight said, heart hammering.

 

“Sorry, Goody,” Billy said regretfully, his eyes looking pained. “But I couldn’t risk it.”

 

And then he lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

 

“Mr. Bogue? It's me. I’ve got them.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. The Heist: Part II

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sam and Goodnight stood there in the vault with Billy’s gun trained on them, all of them waiting in tense silence for Bogue to show up. At one point Goodnight and Billy’s eyes slid over to each other, but when their eyes met Goodnight couldn’t read what was in Billy’s.

 

It wasn’t long before they heard footsteps in the hall outside the vault and Bogue was striding in.

 

“Well, well, well,” he said, his footsteps echoing faintly on the marble tiles as he walked slowly towards them. “Look who it is.”

 

He looked between them and arched an eyebrow. “Do you mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing in my vault?”

 

Goody and Sam remained silent, Bogue watching them with all the coiled watchful calm of a snake.

 

“Why don’t we start with your real names?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

 

“These are Sam Chisolm and Goodnight Robicheaux,” Billy said blankly, gesturing with his pistol to each in turn as he said their names. “Professional bank robbers.”

 

“Well what do you know?” Bogue said turning to Goodnight, his mouth a flat line. For a second he looked almost hurt, but he tamped it down to glare hard at Goodnight, while Goodnight stared back expressionlessly.

 

“They approached me weeks ago with a plan to rob the casino,” Billy said to the floor. “I wanted to turn them in, but I knew I didn’t have any evidence. So I got onto their team, learned their plan, gained their trust…”

 

His eyes flicked up to Goodnight’s and he swallowed.

 

“They spent so long trying to get me to trust them, they never wondered if they should be trusting me.”

 

“You double-crossing son of a bitch,” Goodnight hissed.

 

“And you’re caught in the act,” Billy said simply.

 

“It certainly seems so,” Bogue said, still glaring at Goodnight. “Can’t smooth-talk your way out of this one, can you, ‘Orson’?”

 

He said Goodnight’s alias with extreme sarcasm, and Goodnight just narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

 

Just then there was a clattering of heavy boots, and two armed guards in full combat gear and helmets were bursting into the vault.

 

“Over here,” Billy said pointing towards Sam and Goodnight. The guards went over behind Sam and Goodnight, handcuffing them forcefully, then stood to attention awaiting further instructions.

 

“It’s a pity Billy already called it in,” Bogue said as he stalked towards Sam and Goodnight with his hands in his pockets, and a sadistic expression. “Seeing as how I’d have preferred to deal with you two myself. But I will _personally_ see to it that you and your families pay for this. And when you’re both in a maximum security prison and you haven’t seen daylight for twenty years…you’ll have plenty of time to think of a proper apology for them.”

 

He turned around, apparently satisfied with his little speech. Then Goodnight heard Sam mutter under his breath:

 

“Jackass.”

 

Bogue heard it too. He turned around slowly.

 

“Excuse me?” Bogue said in a low, icy voice.

 

Goodnight could practically feel Sam vibrating with rage beside him, and he willed Sam to stop talking, to shut his mouth. But Sam just lifted his chin to glare at Bogue.

 

“I said you’re a jackass,” Sam said, eyes hard, voice dangerous. “Is that the kind of man you are? Not enough to make sure everyone around you is under your thumb, you’ve gotta go and drag their families into it too?”

 

“ _Sam_ ,” Goodnight said insistently under his breath. Even Billy looked uneasy.

 

Bogue’s eyes were glittering as he walked up to Sam. “Now you see here –”

 

“The hell kind of man are you?” Sam interrupted viciously, straining against the arms of the large guard who was trying to hold him in place. “Bribing people, beating people to death, threating goddamn students? You’re no man at all. You’re _pathetic._ ”

 

So fast none of them saw it coming, Bogue was yanking Billy’s gun out of his hand and pointing it right at Sam’s head.

 

“Say that again!” Bogue yelled. “You fucking say that to my face again!”

 

“Mr. Bogue…” Billy said, taking an uncertain step towards him. Even the guards seemed unsure of what to do.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Billy,” Bogue yelled. “I want this low-down motherfucker to tell me I’m pathetic again. Go on! Say it!”

 

“He doesn’t know shit,” Goodnight said loudly before Sam could say anything else, his heart hammering.

 

“What’s that now?” Bogue asked him in a dangerous whisper.

 

“I mean this guy couldn’t find his way into a vault if it had four doors and a red carpet,” Goodnight said, fighting to keep his voice steady while his pulse raced as he tried to draw Bogue’s attention away from Sam. “But he sure as hell knows how to brag and act like a big man. You wanna get mad at someone, get mad at me, I planned the whole thing. He’s just a protégé with a big mouth.”

 

“Well, it seems as though your protégé’s about to have himself an accident,” Bogue said, raising the gun, and Goodnight realized with a cold pang of horror that for once this wasn’t something he could talk their way out of.

 

Just then one of the guards spoke up behind Goodnight.

 

“I can’t let you do that, sir.”

 

“You’re _my_ guards, and you don’t _let_ me do anything,” Bogue hissed, cocking the gun.

 

“Sir, our suits have built-in cameras,” the guard said, voice muffled by the full-body suit he was wearing. “Now I can wipe the video up until now. Ain’t no one gotta see what’s not their business. But the suit automatically registers all live gunshots and records them. If you pull the trigger and this suit detects a bullet, the suit’s camera will automatically take a screenshot and send it to the police. Nothing I can do about that part, sir.”

 

Bogue looked practically apoplectic with rage. He took in a deep breath as he continued to glare at Sam, and finally forced his hand down.

 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Get these two out of my sight before I shoot them both.”

 

“Yes, sir. Moving out.”

 

The guard gave Goodnight a shove to get him moving, and they marched Sam and Goodnight out of the vault and around the corner, leaving Bogue and Billy standing there alone.

 

Billy watched Bogue take measured breaths, collecting himself, his face red.

 

“Stay here and make sure nothing’s missing,” Bogue finally barked out. And then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the vault, not even looking at Billy.

 

Billy looked around the vault, letting out a breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them determined.

 

“Mr. Bogue,” he called out, stepping out of the vault and following Bogue down the hall.

 

Bogue ignored him and kept storming down the hall.

 

“Mr. Bogue,” Billy said louder, still following him down the long grey corridor outside the vault.

 

“Not now, Billy,” Bogue snapped.

 

“ _Yes_ , now,” Billy snarled, and his tone was enough to have Bogue stopping in his tracks, whirling around with a venomous expression.

 

“You do _not_ talk to me like that,” Bogue said, pointing violently at Billy.

 

“You promised,” Billy said viciously. “You said ten years. And then you said you’d see how I did tonight. Well it’s tonight and I _stopped a goddamn robbery for you_. What the hell else do you want from me?”

 

“For that tone?” Bogue sneered. “Another five years at least. Now get out of my face and get back in the vault before you regret it.”

 

He turned around and Billy clenched his fists.

 

“I’ll go to the police,” he said loudly.

 

Bogue stopped in his tracks. And then turned around with an unpleasant laugh. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your former crimes.”

 

“Not as much as they’d like to hear about yours,” Billy said defiantly.

 

“What’s that?” Bogue asked in a low voice.

 

“I’ll tell them about everything you’ve done,” Billy said. “The fraud, the murders. Everything.”

 

“You’re not going to be telling anyone a goddamn thing,” Bogue said, pulling Billy’s gun out of his pocket and pointing it at him.

 

“Should have done this ten years ago,” Bogue hissed. And then he pulled the trigger.

 

The gun gave an empty click.

 

Billy raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Oops,” he said mildly.

 

Bogue’s eyes widened and he looked up at Billy.

 

And the Billy was swinging his fist and punching Bogue in the face with all his might.

 

Bogue’s nose crunched and his hands flew to his face as he staggered back. Billy advanced on him in a fury, sending his fist flying into Bogue’s face once more with an almighty crack, blood spurting from Bogue’s face. Billy grabbed him behind the head and _slammed_ Bogue’s face into the wall so hard the sound seemed to ring inside the empty hallway. And then Bogue slumped to the floor, completely unconscious.

 

Billy stood over his motionless form breathing heavily. His ears were ringing, his hand was tingling, and he was itching with the urge to tear Bogue apart limb from limb. He took a deep breath, his head spinning. He finally unclenched his fist, and forced himself to back away, his breathing the only sound in the empty hallway.

 

Then there was a scraping on the ceiling. The shifting of a tile. And in one fluid motion, Red was dropping to the floor in front of the vault, right next to Billy. He looked down the hall at the heap that was Bogue’s unconscious form and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Nice shot.”

 

Billy took another breath and shook his head clear, and just like that, the blinding rage seemed to leave him.

 

“Thanks,” Billy said, dragging his eyes back over to Red, looking at the man’s black recon suit which had become mildly dusty from his trip through the vents. “Any trouble on your end?”

 

“None,” Red said, shaking his head, his braids swinging with the motion. “Everything’s set up.”

 

“Alright,” Billy said, glancing back at Bogue. “I’d say we’ve got two hours before he wakes up.”

 

“Okay,” Red said. “Let’s get started.”

 

Billy nodded and started to undo his suit, pulling it off to reveal a black jumpsuit underneath, the same kind Red was wearing.

 

Red had produced four black duffle bags while Billy was changing, and he began to fill them with bricks of cash. He zipped them up and slid two over to Billy, who threw them over his shoulders.

 

“You ready?” Red asked, pulling a ladder down from the ceiling.

 

Billy nodded. And then he and Red were climbing up into the ceiling and getting back to work.

 

*

 

“I can’t believe you.”

 

“Goody –”

 

“I can _not_. Be _lieve_ you.”

 

The two armed guards escorted Sam and Goodnight through the halls, their rifle butts digging into their backs. But Goodnight could barely feel them he was fuming so hard.

 

“I didn’t think he’d –”

 

“You weren’t thinking at all!”

 

“Hey!” said one of the guards as they passed another group of security, prodding Goodnight in the back with his gun. “Keep it moving.”

 

Goodnight clamped his mouth shut furiously as they walked through the halls. The taller of the guards went ahead and pushed open a door to the outside, leading them into an parking lot for the loading dock, empty at this time of night. And the second the door swung shut behind them, Goodnight was twisting his hands out of the pair of fake handcuffs, and swinging around murderously to Sam.

 

“I am going to _kill_ you, Sam Chisolm!”

 

Sam worked his wrists out of his own handcuffs, actually looking sheepish.

 

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t think he’d get _that_ mad.”

 

Goodnight let out a hysterical laugh and threw up his hands.

 

“Well what was your master plan if he did? Nothing! Jesus Christ, if Faraday hadn’t stepped in when he did…and what kind of alternate universe have I stumbled into where _Faraday_ has more good sense than you?!”

 

“Thanks man,” Faraday said amiably behind him, breathing hard as he pulled off his SWAT-style helmet.

 

“Fuck me, how do real guards wear these things?” said Vasquez who was doing the same beside him, wiping his brow.

 

Sam looked like he was about to ask them something but Goodnight jabbed a finger in his chest, eyes blazing.

 

“Oh I am _not_ done with you,” he said to Sam, and Faraday and Vasquez looked at each other and started backing slowly away from them, the boots of their guard costumes clunking heavily.

 

“Goody, I’m _sorry –_ ”

 

“Sorry?! For what? Nearly giving me a heart attack? Or for being a goddamn _idiot_ and deciding to give the bad guy a speech! Who does that? Christ man, even _I_ know how to keep my mouth shut when we’re almost out!”

 

“He started talking about family and I just got mad!”

 

“Well no wonder you don’t want to make jobs personal if you’re gonna act like a damn hooligan every time! Tell me, _Samuel_ , was it personal enough for you when he had a _gun to your head?”_

“Well I didn’t think there’d be a gun down there now, did I?” Sam protested indignantly. And then his forehead creased. “Hey, did you know Billy was going to have a gun?”

 

“No,” Goodnight said honestly. Billy had shown up right on time, exactly as they’d planned, ready to ‘catch them in the act’. But the gun hadn’t been in the plan. Sam didn't like guns on jobs and he'd told Billy to just corner them without one, but Billy must have not wanted to chance it. He’d certainly seemed regretful though when he was apologizing for it, right before calling Bogue –

 

“Oh god, Billy…” Goodnight said, his face going white at them having left Billy down there with Bogue probably still in a murderous rage.

 

“ – is fine,” Vasquez said from over by the wall where he was tapping on a series of screens while working his way out of his fake SWAT suit at the same time. “He and Red are running the money through the ducts now.”

 

Goodnight immediately let out a breath, his legs suddenly feeling weak. “Oh thank god.”

 

Vasquez touched a finger to his ear, listening on one of his other lines, and nodded. “Red says that Billy says the gun was empty anyways.”

 

Oh. They all relaxed at that, realizing they probably should have assumed that in the first place. But then Goody was whirling around at Sam again.

 

“See?” he said, waving his hands. “Billy has common sense. Where’s yours?”

 

“Goody…”

 

“Sam, you scared the _hell_ out of me,” Goodnight said desperately.

 

“ _Goody._ ”

 

“ _What?”_

“Thanks,” Sam said quietly. “For trying to get Bogue’s attention back to you down there anyways.”

 

“Not like it did much good –”

 

“But thank you. Really.”

 

Sam was looking at Goodnight with genuine gratitude for Goodnight’s attempts to save him from Bogue. Goodnight deflated.

 

“Yeah well,” he grumbled. “You went to prison and I didn’t. Least I could do.”

 

“You never owed me for that.”

 

“Well I _especially_ don’t now.”

 

Sam gave him a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder as he turned back to Vasquez and Faraday who were now in their black team outfits too. Vasquez was tapping away on a screen, and Faraday was fiddling with a keypad on another door that would bring them back into the casino. Both were acting like they hadn’t been eavesdropping on every word.

 

“Vas, how’re those files coming?”

 

“Almost done splicing the surveillance footage…” Vasquez said, voice muffled by a stylus between his teeth. “Saving…and sending…now.”

 

Sam nodded. “Alright. Red and Billy should have gotten about a quarter of the money through by now. Let’s go start putting it together.”

 

They nodded and went to the door Faraday was working on. He’d pulled out the wires from the keypad, rubbed them together, and the light blinked red then green. He held it open for them and Vasquez and Sam walked through. Goodnight was about to follow, but then he hesitated.

 

“Josh.”

 

Faraday glanced back curiously and Goodnight shuffled his feet a little.

 

“You come up with that suit-camera stuff down there on the fly?”

 

Faraday shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

 

“Well it was,” Goodnight said quietly. And then he looked back up guiltily, and he and Faraday both spoke at the same time:

 

“Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night –”

 

“Sorry I was such a dick to you on the last job –”

 

“– no really, I was being a jerk and shouldn’t have said all that –”

 

“ – and it was stupid of me to say that to Billy –”

 

“ – and I feel like I’ve misjudged you and –”

 

“ – and I still feel bad about the last time, really, but I was an asshole back then –“

 

“ – and you were great down there, really, and –”

 

“ – well, a bigger asshole back then, and –”

 

“ – and I just wanted to say sorry.”

 

They stared at each other hesitantly, and then each cracked small smiles.

 

“Square?” Goodnight asked sticking out his hand.

 

“Square,” Faraday said relieved as he shook it. And then he took on a devilish grin as he yanked Goodnight towards him, catching him in a headlock.

 

“Gerroff me –“

 

“Aww, Robicheaux, you _do_ like me!”

 

“Not anymore –”

 

“Yo!” Vasquez said, sticking his head back out the door. “What’s the hold up?”

 

“We’re kissing and making up,” Faraday said, pressing a messy kiss to a squirming Goodnight’s forehead.

 

“Hot,” Vasquez said patiently. “Now would you get in here? We’re on the clock here, muchachos.”

 

“Si, señor,” Faraday said smartly as he released Goodnight. And they all went back into the casino, getting ready for the final sprint.

 

 

*

 

Bogue came to with a head that felt like it was full of cinderblocks. He groaned and pulled himself off the floor. He gingerly touched his face and winced, dried blood crumbling under his fingers. His nose was certainly broken, and all because of –

 

“Billy!” he barked out looking around, but no one answered. He was standing alone in the hallway, still littered with debris, but everything was unsettlingly quiet. He looked over towards the vault, narrowed his eyes, and walked slowly towards it, and when he stepped inside his eyes fairly popped out of his head.

 

It was completely empty. Not a single bill remained on the shelves. The place had been picked clean, the cases for money politely stacked together, but they were all empty, every last one. A hundred and fifty million dollars vanished into thin air.

 

“BILLY!” Bogue roared, kicking over the empty boxes that used to contain a fortune, and storming out of the vault. He was going to find that son of a bitch, get a gun, a _real_ gun, and put a bullet right between his eyes for this, sure as his name was –

 

“Bartholomew Bogue?” asked a loud voice and Bogue looked up, coming face to face with a man in a dark suit and holding up a badge. He was surrounded by a group of people all dressed the same. “I’m Special Agent Cooper and I’m with the FBI.”

 

“Thank god you’re here,” Bogue said, relieved to be dealing with the real FBI this time. “I’ve been robbed.”

 

The man raised an eyebrow. “I can see that. And my question to you is…where’s the money, Bogue?”

 

Bogue blinked, taken aback. “What?”

 

“I mean where’s the money you stole from this vault?”

 

“Me? This wasn’t me! It was the son of a bitch Billy Rocks who did this, you should be talking to him.”

 

“Oh we did,” the agent said. “He called us this evening. Said he suspected a robbery, that you were planning on stealing from your own vault.”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” sputtered Bogue. “Why would I steal from my own vault?”

 

“Could it be because we received this today?” the man asked, one of his agents passing him a thick folder. Special Agent Cooper flipped it open. “This is quite an impressive list, Mr. Bogue. Bribery, extortion, embezzlement, tax fraud, intimidation, arson, and would you look at this…contract killings, conspiracy to commit murder, and manslaughter.”

 

The man flipped the folder shut. “Could it be that you were planning to flee the country today, and that’s why you needed the money?”

 

Bogue’s face went white. “That’s a lie, all of it. It was my security guy Billy Rocks. He’s a criminal and he can’t be trusted. I can show you his entire record. He had some kind of plan, him and…there were two others! Someone called Orson, I mean, Goodnight Robicheaux, and another one called Sam…Sam…”

 

“Chisolm?” the man asked with a dry smile. “Yeah we know them. They’re the ones who got the file to us in exchange for giving Billy Rocks a clean record.”

 

Bogue stared at them with his mouth open. And then he snapped his mouth shut.

 

“Well they’re playing you for fools. Billy Rocks –“

 

“ – said that you would try to pin this on him. That you were planning to rob the vault and take off, leaving him to take the fall. What’s more is we have proof.”

 

The man angled a tablet towards him which showed security footage from the very hallway they were standing in but from hours before, Bogue striding down the hall, Billy walking after him.

 

_“Now get out of my face and get back in the vault before you regret it.”_

 

_“I’ll go to the police.”_

 

_“Go ahead. I’m sure they’d love to hear about your former crimes.”_

 

_“Not as much as they’d like to hear about yours.”_

 

_“What’s that?”_

 

_“You’re not going to be telling anyone a goddamn thing.”_

It looked damning with the first part edited out. And even more damning when the figure of Bogue on the screen pulled Billy’s pistol out of his pocket and said ‘ _I should have done this ten years ago’_ and very clearly pulled the trigger.

 

The figure of Billy on the screen started to lay into Bogue, and the agent snapped it shut.

 

“So you finally decide to flee the country, you blow up your vault to make it look like someone else did it, you get the money out and lure Billy Rocks down here to frame him, and when he refuses to take the fall, you attempt to kill him. Is there anything you’d like to say for yourself?”

 

Bogue was practically vibrating with righteous fury, but everything he said just seemed to make it worse. So he seethed, “I want to speak to a lawyer.”

 

“Well we do have a lawyer down here actually,” the agent said thoughtfully. “The lawyer who used to be on your case, as a matter of fact, and who’s been advising us. If you’d like to speak to her you can, but since her husband is listed on this file as one of your victims, I think there might be a slight conflict of interest.”

 

The herd of agents separated, and a red-haired women came out from the middle, Bogue’s eyes widening when he recognized her.

 

Emma Cullen stood there with a briefcase and a shark-like grin.

 

“Hi.”

 

 

*

 

 

Up in the casino, in a cool, shady room behind the aquarium, Sam, Goodnight, Faraday, Vasquez, and Horne were hard at work, arranging money, stacking it, and organizing it so that it could be wheeled out when the coast was clear. They had two large rolling aquarium tanks in front of them, but instead of fish they were almost full to the brim with cash.

 

“Here, turn this one sideways…”

 

“If you put this stack of bills on its side you can fit the other one…”

 

“Jesus Christ, this feels like Jenga.”

 

“How is this Jenga, Guero? This is more like Tetris.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Sam glanced up and saw Red coming out of the ceiling and climbing down the ladder with a duffel bag hanging from each shoulder.

 

“Are those the last ones?” Sam asked when Red reached the floor.

 

Red nodded out of breath, dropping the bags to the floor with a heavy thump. “Thank God.”

 

“Aww, Reddy, don’t tell me you’re tired? This is the fun part!” Faraday said grinning as he unzipped the bags, he and Vasquez starting to pull out thick bundles of money.

 

Red stared at him incredulously before shrieking, “FUN PART?!”

 

“Hold on, I just mean –”

 

“It is half a kilometer through the vents from this room to the hall outside the vault. Each bag has two and a half million dollars in it, which is fifty pounds _each_. Which means that all night, Billy and I have been running back and forth almost thirty times with a hundred pounds on our backs, and all you guys had to do was put it in a fucking _box!_ Christ there’s a reason they got Billy and me to do this part and not your lazy ass.”

 

“Alright, alright, _sorry_.”

 

“How’s Billy doing?” Sam asked Red.

 

“Fine, but probably _also_ sore as hell,” Red said with another glare towards Faraday. “He went back to bring the van around.”

 

“Alright, good job, son,” Sam said, placing a hand on Red’s shoulder, Red trying valiantly not to wince. “Last push.”

 

Red sighed. He picked up his water bottle and took a deep swig and dumped the rest over his head. He leaned tiredly against the tank that was holding Billy’s shark, pulling back just as she swam over to snap at him irately.

 

“Yeah yeah you’re so fucking scary,” Red muttered, braids dripping as he flipped her off. Miekka flicked her tail and swum to the other end of the portable tank.

 

“These ones just aren’t gonna fit, Sam,” Vasquez said holding onto two last bricks of money.

 

“Give ‘em here,” Goodnight said producing a plastic bag. Vasquez dumped them in and Goodnight squeezed the air out before tying the bag off, and dumping it in the shark tank. It sunk to the bottom, Miekka circling the intrusion suspiciously. Goodnight looked critically at the bag for a moment and then covered it with a heap of seaweed from another tank. “Perfect.”

 

Everyone straightened up and put on white lab coats which Horne had already laid out for them. They threw sheets over the tanks to cover their contents. Then they took their positions as they wheeled the three tanks to the door: Red and Faraday took the tank at the front, Vasquez and Horne went to the middle, and Sam and Goodnight took the last one, hoping to go mostly unnoticed at the end.

 

“How does it look?” Sam asked while Red and Faraday peered out the door.

 

“It’s clear.”

 

“Okay. Go… _now_.”

 

Each team gave their tank a push, and they began to slowly wheel the tanks out onto the casino floor, still empty from the evacuation. It was eerie without the normal clamor of the guests and clanging from the machines, the sirens spinning silently on top of the slots, cards lying abandoned on the table. The wheels of the tanks rolled silently over the carpet and they wound their way through the casino towards the main exit.

 

They were almost at the front door when a guard held up a hand to stop them. Faraday and Red pulled their tank to a stop, the sheet almost tickling the tops of the guard’s boots.

 

“Hang on,” the guard said. “What’s this?”

 

“It’s okay, son,” Horne said from the middle, holding up the passcard that Bogue had given him. “They’re part of the evacuation. Bogue himself okayed it.”

 

“Bogue has also just been arrested,” the guard said wryly. “Gonna have to take a look if it’s all the same to you.”

 

They watched impassively as the guard reached towards the sheet covering the first tank.

 

“What’s in this one?” the guard asked interestedly, pulling off the sheet. “Woah!”

 

Miekka swam to the surface and snapped at his fingers, and the guard yanked his hand back swearing as she turned away with a splash.

 

“This one has a shark,” Red said helpfully.

 

“Yeah, no shit,” the guard said, shaking his head dazedly. “Alright, take ‘em out.”

 

He waved them through and they pushed their tanks outside, down the wheelchair ramps, and towards a waiting van. It was painted white with green paw prints covering it, and the words: ‘Animal Liberation Front.’

 

They wheeled the tanks across the sidewalk and started to load them up into the back of the van, putting the ones with the money in first while Red and Faraday lingered on the sidewalk. At one point Faraday nudged Red and Red looked over. There, being taken out of the casino in handcuffs, surrounded by a herd of federal agents, was Bogue. He was being held against a car while an officer read him his rights. Red’s lips twitched.

 

They loaded up the last tank and Red went over to climb into the driver’s seat. But as he did he looked at Bogue thoughtfully and grinned.

 

“Thanks for the fish!” he called out. Bogue looked up, eyes narrowing when he recognized Red from earlier. He looked like he was about to yell something unpleasant back, but Red just slammed the door shut on his words, and the van took off.

 

Inside the cramped van, everyone was taking off their lab coats and pulling the sheets off the tanks.

 

“Uh, Billy?” Faraday said, crouched down beside the shark tank and looking at a hole that had ripped in the bag inside. “I think your shark just ate five grand.”

 

Billy came out from the front of the van, pulling off his gloves, and he shrugged.

 

“Call it a transportation fee,” he said.

 

Everyone looked at each other. And then they were exploding into laughter, as Red continued to drive them away and onto the highway, the van full of laughter, whoops, and the sound of high fives.

 

In the commotion, Goody’s eyes found Billy’s. Goodnight hadn’t seen Billy since down in the vault and his heart leapt at what he saw now. Billy’s eyes were flashing brightly, and his face was alive and flushed as he ran a hand through sweat-damp, disheveled hair, his chest rising and falling beneath his black recon suit, every inch a cat-burglar, the best one Goodnight had ever seen in his life. And then both broke into huge grins as they walked towards each other, laughing as they collided in a tight hug. And then in one swift motion Billy was bending Goody back and kissing him in front of everyone, lips still turned up at the corners.

 

They straightened up amidst wolf-whistles and Goodnight laughed.

 

“Pretty good poker face down there, Rocks,” he said. “Bogue went for it hook, line, and sinker.”

 

“Looks like running our lines paid off,” Billy said with a grin.

 

“You double crossing son of a bitch,” Goodnight said in a sing-song voice, mimicking what he’d said to Billy down in the vault.

 

“And you’re caught in the act,” Billy pretended to growl back, lines they’d laughed into each other’s skin the day before the heist.

 

They laughed again now before Billy’s eyes went more serious.

 

“I’m sorry again about the gun,” he said earnestly, cupping Goodnight’s face. “I know Sam said no guns but…I just didn’t think Bogue would believe that I could keep you guys down there without one. And –”

 

“Billy it’s fine, I trusted you,” Goodnight said covering Billy’s hand with his own. “You know Bogue best, and we couldn’t risk him getting suspicious. Like you said, you did what you had to do.”

 

“I know,” Billy said regretfully, since he knew Goodnight’s history with guns. “But I still should have warned you.”

 

“Wouldn’t have been a bad idea,” Sam said dryly as he wandered over, but he smiled at Billy. “Next time you have an idea, feel free to share. I know you’re used to working alone, but you’re on a team now, Billy. Alright?”

 

Billy looked around hesitantly to see everyone smiling at him, and he bit his lip and nodded, looking a little overcome by the acceptance, and also the fact that he was finally, finally, _out_.

 

“Yeah,” he said, the word a little hoarse. “Okay.”

 

Goodnight gathered him up in his arms again, and Billy buried his face in Goodnight’s neck, hugging him tight while Goodnight stroked his hair. He seemed a little overwhelmed and Goodnight gently drew him away from the others, rubbing his arms soothingly.

 

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Goodnight murmured in his ear. “It’s all over.”

 

“I know,” Billy said, his voice muffled against Goodnight’s shirt. “I don’t know why I’m –”

 

Goodnight pressed a kiss to the side of his face. “I know. But you’re okay. Alright?”

 

Billy nodded, taking a breath and pulling himself together. He lifted his head from Goodnight’s shoulder to look at him.

 

“Thanks for getting me out.”

 

Goodnight shook his head seriously.

 

“I didn’t get you out. None of us would be here right now if it wasn’t for you, and we couldn’t have pulled off any of this without you. _You_ got you out, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Billy said quietly. He continued to gaze at Goodnight, lips curving up in a smile again. “But thanks for asking me.”

 

“Thanks for saying yes,” Goodnight said smiling. And Billy leaned in to kiss him again, Goodnight let his eyes fall closed, and Red continued to drive them all away.

 

They made it back to the house, everyone spilling out of the van gleefully. The moon was high over the hills as it spilled over the grass around the house, and off in the distance Vegas itself was a bright, sparkling cluster of lights.

 

“Alright men, let’s split this up, and take this place apart fast,” Sam said grinning. “Go through the house and make sure you haven’t left anything behind. I don’t want any sign we were here. My advice to everyone? Take a vacation. You’ve earned it.”

 

Everyone laughed and started to unpack the van, easing the tanks out onto the lawn. At one point Sam wandered over to Goody.

 

“Well partner, looks like you’re riding off into the sunset with something a little more exciting than money this time,” he joked, nodding towards Billy who was helping the rest of the team with the tanks.

 

“Yeah,” Goodnight agreed. “Looks like I’ve got a shark too.”

 

They looked at each other and laughed, moving forward to meet in a warm hug. This might have been the biggest job they’d done yet but it wouldn’t be the last.

 

They pulled back and Sam walked over to where Horne was standing with one of the tanks. And they started to push it towards the house, Sam waving for the team to follow.

 

Red stood staring at the remaining tank of money. “If I have to push one more thing today my arms are going to fall off.”

 

Vasquez laughed before patting the other sheet-covered tank. “Hop on, Pippi. Give you a ride.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Red said glaring, but he pulled himself up onto the tank, sighing exhaustedly, falling back on the pile of money and closing his eyes.

 

Faraday ambled over to the tank with the shark and crouched down to give it a wave.

 

“Bye, fishy. Thanks for being our red herring.”

 

“Blacktip reef shark,” Billy corrected.

 

“I _know,_ it’s a joke because there’s an expression – oh you know what I mean,” he said scowling at Billy whose eyes were twinkling.

 

Vasquez grinned as he came over.

 

“I’ll take this one,” he said with a wink at Goody and Billy, slinging an arm around Faraday. Faraday had a slight grin at the words and they went off to push away the other tank, Red still collapsed on top, looking like he’d fallen asleep.

 

Goodnight and Billy turned to each other smiling, reaching out and tangling their fingers together.

 

“So what now?” Billy asked him.

 

Goodnight gave his hand a squeeze. “Like I said. Whatever you want.”

 

Billy gave a half-smile. “Right now there’s not a thing I want except you.”

 

Goodnight’s heart swelled but he tried not to let himself feel carried away, reminded of something Sam had said the other night.

 

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

 

Billy raised an eyebrow.

 

“I just mean it’s a big world,” he said gently, taking both of Billy’s hands. “You only just got out, and you shouldn’t have to tie yourself to the first thing you see. If you need time to do your own thing, don’t worry about me, because I will _wait_. I’ll wait for you as long as you want, Billy. Honestly.”

 

Billy was still smiling at him and he tugged Goodnight towards him, resting their foreheads together.

 

“I’m done waiting,” he said quietly but determinedly. “So you can stop being all noble and selfless, because I’m not waiting one more second for you. Got that?”

 

Goodnight huffed out a laugh that was more relieved than he cared to admit.

 

“Thank _god._ ”

 

Billy’s thumb traced at his cheek and Goodnight let himself melt into it.

 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Goodnight said, running his hands up Billy’s arms.

 

“I know. You’re not that good of a liar,” Billy murmured.

 

“Well maybe you’re not that good of a thief.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Thief.”

 

Billy grinned and then tilted his head, and he and Goodnight were kissing again, arms wrapped tight against each other. And just because he was happy and he wanted to, Goodnight spun Billy around in a circle, savoring the muffled laugh against his lips.

 

He set Billy back down and they pulled back grinning big, goofy grins. They looked out at the bright lights of Vegas in the distance

 

“So really, what now?” Billy asked again.

 

Goodnight looked over at the shark tank and hummed thoughtfully, turning back to Billy with a smile.

 

“Tell me…how do you feel about yachts?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ 2 weeks later _

 

 

 

“You ready, cher?”

 

Billy bit his lip and nodded. He walked across the deck to go help Goody with the tank, the boat bobbing gently in the water.

 

“I reckon we're far enough from the shore that no one will complain about the ‘reckless release of marine life’,” Goody was saying as they wheeled the tank to the back of the yacht. “But if anyone is swimming at this time of night then I reckon they deserve what they get. Their fault if they haven’t seen Jaws by now.”

 

Billy smiled but didn’t reply. Goodnight glanced over at him, the moonlight cutting across his face.

 

“We don’t have to right away,” he said gently. “Not if you don’t want to.”

 

Billy shook his head.

 

“No, we…we should.”

 

Goodnight nodded and they hooked the shark tank up to some pulleys at the back of their boat, slowly lowering it down to the water, inky black at this time of night. It had taken them a couple weeks to send their money to various accounts in the Cayman Islands, pick out a boat and buy it, set it up, and wait for the delivery of their current companion. Turns out transporting a shark didn’t come without its complications. But compared to robbing a casino it was nothing.

 

The tank was almost fully submerged in the water. A small wave rippled over the top and Miekka flicked her tail and swam towards it, almost like she could tell that the new salty surge of water wasn’t from her own tank, but from the ocean beyond.

 

“I can do this part,” Billy said quietly, and Goodnight nodded and straightened up, squeezing Billy’s shoulder as he hung back and gave him some space.

 

Billy crouched down and stared at the shark which continued to circle her tank, tail swaying from side to the side, gills widening curiously, so close to the ocean, nothing between her and the open sea but a thin pane of glass.

 

Billy’s hand hovered over the latches at the front of the tank. Billy knew she was just a fish but…he’d also had more in common with this fish over the past ten years than anyone else.

 

She did another lap of the tank impatiently and he smiled and undid the clasps holding the front wall of the tank in place. He tugged the pane of glass out to the side and let the salty water rush in.

 

The tank water and ocean water met in a rush of bubbles that pushed the shark back as the salt water flooded her gills. And as the frothing water settled, Billy saw her dart forward. And in one movement he quickly reached out, his fingers brushing over her back before she swam away. Wet, rough, and then gone.

 

He leaned against the tank, a lump in his throat, staring at the rings in the water where she’d disappeared. He heard footsteps behind him, a gentle hand reaching down to cup his face. He leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

 

They stayed like that for a while, staring at the dark sea, smooth as glass, Goody standing behind Billy where he sat on the back steps of the boat.

 

“You alright?” Goodnight murmured eventually.

 

Billy nodded, leaning back against his legs, blinking hard.

 

“Are you…crying?” Goodnight asked, thumb rubbing against his eyes.

 

Billy shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

 

“It’s just the ocean water,” he said.

 

“Okay,” said Goodnight, unconvinced but with a smile in his voice.

 

Billy stood up and turned around to face Goody who was looking at him softly with so much aching affection Billy felt he could barely breathe for it. He reached out for the cloth of Goody’s shirt tugging him close, letting out a breath as their faces rested together.

 

The odds that they would have ever met at all were astronomical. And them getting away with everything had been an even bigger gamble. But it felt like Billy had spent so much of his life just watching it go by. And when Goodnight had strolled into Billy’s life it was like one of those moments when you’re playing cards and the perfect hand comes along. And when it does you either bet big or watch it be swept off the table altogether.

 

Billy took Goodnight’s hand in his, calm in the realization that this was his to keep. Billy didn’t have to watch his life go by anymore. He could just live it.

 

And pulling Goodnight closer towards him and sealing their lips together, it felt like he was starting right then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ 6 months later _

 

 

 

Goodnight stretched back on the lounge chair contentedly, baking underneath the hot sun. Billy would give him hell for having taken off his thin linen shirt in the middle of the day, but Billy was out swimming as it happened, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

 

He reached for his drink, moving the colourful umbrella to the side as he took a pull from the straw. He licked his lips, the sweet juice mingling with the salty taste from when he’d gone swimming earlier.

They did that every day. Swimming, that is. Swimming, sailing, and making their way around the islands, no plans for the day other than if they should up the sails and find a new port to explore, or stay anchored, bobbing in crystal blue and green waters next to white beaches, alternating between swimming or laying back on the deck while they enjoyed each other’s company. Whether that was by playing cards, reading, tanning, keeping the large yacht in ship-shape, or having frankly ridiculous amounts of sex, the bliss of living with Billy Rocks still hadn’t worn off. And at this rate, Goodnight didn’t think it ever would.

 

Goodnight nudged down his sunglasses, keeping an eye on Billy out in the water, smiling when he saw his dark head bobbing out in the water like a seal’s. They were anchored by a coral reef and Billy was out snorkeling again. Never content to just float on the water though, Goodnight often saw his head dip under to go chase a fish or pick up a shell on the sandy bottom.

 

Goodnight smiled and took another sip of his drink, making a mental note to ask Billy if he wanted to have dinner on shore or fix something on the boat. They were anchored off one of the many islands in the area, and this one had an appealing night market they’d explored the night before before, walking through the bright lights with cold beers in their hands, listening to the sounds of drums from the street bands, the smell of fish, pineapples, and coconuts thick on the air.

 

They’d seen what felt like half of the Pacific islands this way: sailing to different areas and exploring the local cities, enjoying the colour of each one. But as fun as their travels had been, Goodnight also enjoyed the time he spent with Billy just staying in on the boat: days spent lounging on the deck while they soaked up the sun, the ocean rippling clear around them; warm evenings of throwing something together in the yacht’s kitchen and eating dinner out on the deck with their feet dangling in the water as they watched the sun set; rainy evenings curled up in the lounge watching old movies on their flat screen while the rain drummed on the roof overhead and made the ocean outside as rippled and dented as a golfball. And then there were the nights spent with the windows thrown open, the hot breeze coming in while they moved together on the sheets, feeling and tasting every inch of each other, the movement of their bodies as steady and uplifting as the roll of waves.

 

Goodnight and Billy had each chipped in from their shares of the casino job so that they could buy the yacht. It was the closest thing either had had to a steady home in a long time, it had been worth every penny.

 

And speaking of a million dollar view…

 

Billy was climbing up the ladder, and god, this was just the best part of Goody’s day. He pulled himself up onto the deck, dripping wet, muscles glistening beneath the hot sun, black swimsuit clinging to his hips. He reached up to take off his snorkelling mask, the plastic strap tangling briefly in his hair which he then squeezed out. It was past his shoulders these days, either by preference or simply not being bothered enough to cut it.

 

Billy bent down to take off his flippers, and Goodnight took the opportunity to quickly throw on his white shirt again, not bothering to button it. Billy would say he was burning up, although truthfully Goodnight had never been more brown in his life. He ran his fingers through his salty hair, mussing it up, knowing Billy found it fetching when his hair, sun-streaked with blonde these days, fell across his eyes.

 

Billy straightened up and walked towards Goodnight on the lounge chair, clearly finding Goodnight as appealing a picture right now as Goodnight found him.

 

“Nice swim, cher?” Goodnight asked with a smile.

 

“Saw a lionfish,” Billy said with satisfaction as he picked up Goodnight’s drink and took a sip of it.

 

“Bravo, darling. What’s that, only two thousand species left to go?” Goodnight asked, referring to the list Billy had taped to the fridge of all the different fish he wanted to see in the wild.

 

“Something like that,” Billy agreed, handing Goodnight back his glass where he’d been batting at it. “Saw a leopard shark too.”

 

Goodnight narrowed his eyes. “How big are those ones again?”

 

Billy smiled. “They’re harmless, Goody.”

   

“Well maybe so, but you just remember what I said about chasing off after anything with bigger teeth than you,” Goodnight said warningly.

 

“You’ll be cross,” Billy said, smile still tugging at his lips.

 

“I’ll be cross,” Goodnight agreed.

 

“And you’ll scold me,” Billy murmured, bending down, his lips tickling Goodnight’s.

 

“Darn right,” Goodnight said with finality, leaning in to catch Billy’s lips, salty and cool against his own, and delicious every time.

 

He felt Billy's lip turn up against his own, and suddenly Billy was pulling back and wiping a thick glob of cream against Goodnight's nose.

 

“You were burning,” Billy said.

 

Goodnight made a sound of protest but laughed and rubbed the sunscreen in. Billy kissed the tip of his nose when he was finished, and then hopped back onto the deck to go towel off.

 

Goodnight felt his heart swell to watch Billy move about the deck, limbs loose, posture relaxed, a world removed from the Billy Rocks he’d met in Vegas. That Billy had watched everything with wary eyes, posture tense, too skinny and his skin pale from so much time inside, suspicious of everyone and everything around him.

 

Goodnight had still found him the most beautiful man alive back then. But the Billy that had emerged these past six months was nothing short of a wonder. He was tanned and golden, muscles strong and healthy from hours spent swimming and doing work on the boat every day. His quietness from before had made him seem pent-up, almost like it was a defense. But any stretches of silence these days seemed borne of confidence instead, telling Goodnight what he thought of something with an eloquent lift of his eyebrows or a mere quirk to his lips. He was relaxed, cocky, so dry-as-dust funny he made Goodnight’s sides hurt, and so vibrantly self-possessed Goodnight felt he was seeing the real Billy Rocks come out more and more every day, leaving behind the buttoned-up Billy he’d met in Vegas as Billy gradually remembered how to be himself.

 

Sometimes Billy would withdraw, and Goodnight knew he was retreating to years of repression and tenseness and wondering what he could have done differently to have changed his situation, or wondering if there was nothing he could have done at all. Sometimes it was hard to know which was worse.

 

Goodnight knew all about that feeling, and he knew it would take Billy a long time before he could go a day without thinking about it. All Goodnight could do in the meantime was be there for him and love him as much as possible. And that he could do unlimitedly.

 

Deciding it was time for a snack, Goodnight pulled himself to his feet and padded across the deck, sending an appreciative look at Billy who was tying up his hair into a knot, back muscles rippling sinfully. Goodnight went to the table at the back of the deck that they always kept laid out with assorted fruits and drinks and snacks for them to graze on in between swims. Goodnight picked up a cracker and began spooning a generous amount of caviar onto it.

 

He felt arms go around his waist and smiled, leaning back against Billy who rested his chin against Goodnight’s shoulder.

 

“You know, I don’t think it’s possible to live off of _just_ caviar and mai tais,” Billy said. 

 

“Well I’m willing to do the research,” Goodnight said, holding the cracker over his shoulder so Billy could lean in and take a bite.

 

“Did you buy the expensive kind again?” Billy said while chewing.

 

“Yes, because you like it,” Goodnight said brightly, popping the rest into his mouth.

 

“I’m not complaining,” Billy said with a smile in his voice. “Just saying we might have to rob another casino if we keep this up.”

 

“Good idea, cher, then we could afford _two_ cans,” Goodnight joked.

 

Billy smiled and dipped his head to kiss at Goodnight’s shoulder, trailing his hand down Goodnight’s bare stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of Goodnight’s swimsuit.

 

“Still hungry?” Goodnight teased when he felt Billy nipping at his neck.

 

“Always,” Billy said, his voice rough and warm, slipping his fingers inside Goodnight’s swimming trunks.

 

Goodnight let out a blissful sigh, leaning back further into Billy who was warm and dry from the sun already. His swimsuit was still damp though, and Goodnight pushed his hips back against the bulge of him, rubbing against him invitingly. Billy made a low sound of approval and turned Goodnight around by the hips, meeting him in a warm, eager kiss.

 

Goodnight grinned and hooked his ankle behind Billy’s, winding his arms around Billy’s neck as they continued to kiss. Billy broke away to tilt Goody’s chin up, slowly kissing his way down Goody’s neck while Goodnight took in a sharp breath. Really liking the direction this was going in, Goodnight was about to suggest they take this somewhere more comfortable when he heard the radio beeping in the upper cabin of the yacht.

 

Goodnight groaned and rested his head against Billy’s shoulder for a minute, but one couldn’t really ignore the radio when you lived on any kind of ship.

 

“Why don’t you make us some drinks and I’ll see who it is and what they could possibly want,” Goodnight said, teasing out a strand of hair from Billy’s bun and giving it a tug.

 

Billy sighed but smiled as he gave Goodnight another kiss. “What kind?”

 

“Surprise me,” Goodnight said with a wink.

 

They walked back across the deck, and Goodnight hopped onto the winding stairway which led to the little radio operator’s office, Billy delivering a smack to his ass. Goodnight turned around, but Billy was already walking inside the yacht to the kitchen with a far too innocent expression on his face.

 

Chuckling Goodnight continued up the stairs, pausing for a minute at the top to take in the scenery around him: water so clear the fish below seemed like they were flying, the white beaches not too far from where they were anchored and bobbing smoothly in the water, green islands jutting up in the distance, little white pinpricks of sailboats further out in the blue, and the sounds of Billy somewhere inside, pulling out ice from the fridge in their house. What a life.

 

He went into the oak-paneled room taking a pair of headphones off the head of a stuffed shark that was perched on top of the radio. After the heist Goodnight had asked Billy if there was anything he wanted to keep from his room at the casino. Billy had stayed there ten years but the only thing he’d wanted to keep was the stuffed shark Goody had won for him way back when.

 

Goodnight put on the headphones and fiddled with the dials and the voice of the radio operator came in.

 

_“Radio operations to Miekka, do you come in?”_

“This is Miekka, loud and clear,” Goodnight said.

 

“ _You have a call from an outside channel, do you wish to take it?”_

“Thanks, put it through,” Goodnight said, leaning back in the office’s chair while he waited, listening to the sounds of the blender somewhere below.

 

The radio clicked to a different channel and a voice was saying:

 

_“Is this Captain Robicheaux?”_

Goodnight grinned widely, leaning forward in his chair.

 

“Ahoy, landlubber. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Sam Chisolm chuckled over the phone.

 

_“Just checking in. Couldn’t get your cell, so thought I’d try you on the radio.”_

“Yeah, cell service is a bit spottier on this side of the island,” Goodnight said. He gave frequent updates on their location to their friends, but sometimes those locations could be pretty remote.

 

_“How’s sea life treating you?”_

“I live on a yacht with the most gorgeous man alive, does that answer it?”

 

Sam laughed. _“How’s Billy doing?”_

“He’s great,” Goodnight said with a smile. “God you should _see_ him, Sam. He looks completely different, acts different, but in a _good_ way, you know? I can’t get over how good he’s doing.”

 

 _“I’m glad to hear it,”_ Sam said. _“I actually wanted to ask you both something.”_

Goodnight raised his eyebrows, swinging his feet up onto the desk. “Go on.”

 

_“It’s about another job.”_

Goodnight burst out laughing. “Of course.”

 

 _“What?”_ The grin in Sam’s voice was evident.

 

“You’re the one who said take a vacation,” Goodnight pointed out.

 

 _“I did, and it’s been six months,”_ Sam countered.

 

“You realize none of us ever have to work again in our lives?” Goodnight asked reasonably. “That and I don’t see how we could possibly expect to top the last one.”

 

 _“It’s not about topping it,”_ Sam said. _“Or the money. It’s about staying busy, Mr. ‘I live on a yacht’.”_

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Goodnight drawled. “But I know what you mean.”

 

It’s not that he was feeling restless. Far from it. Whether it was working on the boat, exploring the islands, or sailing just for the pleasure of it, there was no shortage of things to do. Partly by design, since Goodnight had figured that after working so hard for so long, complete inactivity would be a shock to the system for Billy. They’d eased their way into their current relaxed hedonistic lifestyle. But as blissful as it was, it wasn’t their main lifestyle, the one that motivated them. It was like Goodnight had said to Billy when they’d established they were both criminals: men like them don’t change.

 

 _“Well we’re too hot to work in the states again anytime soon,”_ Sam said. _“But I’ve gotten word about an art job in Europe. An art smuggling ring that’s been overstepping their bounds.”_

“Hmm, what’s the source?” Goodnight asked.

 

_“Emma.”_

A delighted grin broke out over Goodnight’s face. “Sam, don’t tell me you’re finally making a dishonest woman out of her.”

 

There was a long-suffering sigh over the radio.

 

_“Sta’zitto. Anything she may be looking into is of her own volition.”_

“And that’s a life of crime?”

_“Well I think after all her work helping with the trials, and Bogue finally getting convicted, she felt like she couldn’t go back to law. Like she’s fulfilled her purpose there or something.”_

“From a criminal lawyer to a criminal, huh?” Goodnight mused.

 

 _“Not the strangest jump,”_ Sam said. “ _She knows the world and she’d have certainly built up connections by now.”_

“Could be,” Goodnight said, looking outside and watching a sailboat pass by in the distance.

 

 _“Oh hey, I didn’t tell you where the job is mainly based,”_ Sam said.

 

“Where?”

 

“ _Venice.”_

Goodnight straightened up in his chair eagerly.

 

“Coulda led with that!”

 

_“What do you think?”_

“Well I’d have to talk to my uh, first mate about it,” Goodnight said jokingly.

 

 _“Your new pet names I take it?”_ Sam said dryly.

 

Goodnight grinned. He leaned to the side, calling out to the bottom deck, “Hey, Sugarlips! Get up here.”

 

Turning back to the radio he asked curiously, “What kind of art, by the way?”

 

_“Some classics, but mostly abstract I think.”_

 

Goodnight groaned. “There’s the catch.”

 

_“What, I thought you liked modern art?”_

“I’ve seen blank walls with more character.”

 

Billy came up the steps, appearing with two tall glasses, raising his eyebrow.

 

“Are we doing Sugarlips now?” he asked dryly, handing one of the glasses to Goodnight.

 

“Mojito slushies?” Goodnight exclaimed, looking at the mint leaves in the glass. “Have I mentioned you’re a genius?”

 

“Must have been before Sugarlips,” Billy said mouth ticking up as he took a sip of his concoction.

 

“Sam’s on the line,” Goodnight said, unplugging his headphones and putting the radio on speaker. Billy walked over, sliding into Goodnight’s lap while he stirred his drink.

 

“Hey, Sam.”

 

_“Hey, Billy. Mojito slushies?”_

“I’m a genius,” Billy said, slipping an arm around Goodnight’s neck as he took another sip. “What’s up?”

 

_“A job, if you’re both interested.”_

Billy raised his eyebrows at Goodnight who’d settled his arms around Billy’s waist. “What kind?”

 

“Some bad men with worse taste in art require interference.”

 

“Hmm,” Billy said, trailing a bare foot up Goodnight’s calf. “Where?”

 

 _“Mainly Venice,”_ Sam said.

 

“Venice Beach, or Vegas Venice?”

 

_“…the Italian one.”_

“I’m kidding,” Billy said looking amused. “Who’s in?”

 

 _“Oh just some people you two might know,”_ Sam said easily. _“Same crew as last time actually.”_

“What, everyone?” Goodnight asked.

_“Red was first to agree. He’s already in Europe, still backpacking I think.”_

“Still the world traveler,” Goodnight said smiling. “And?”

 

_“Horne said he’d lend a hand for a few weeks. He knows a lot of the museum curator crowd.”_

“ ’Course he does,” Goodnight said. “Vasquez and Faraday?”

 

_“Yes and yes. Faraday was the one who answered Vasquez’s phone.”_

 

“They still shacked up?” Goodnight asked with genuine delight.

 

_“It would appear so.”_

“Ha!” Goodnight said triumphantly. “You owe me fifty bucks, Billy.”

 

“Cool. You owe me fifty bucks, Sam,” Billy said easily.

 

“Wait, were you side-betting on me with Sam?” Goodnight asked indignantly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because you’re practical or because you’re a pest?”

 

“You choose,” Billy said with a grin.

 

“Can’t believe you asked us _last_ ,” Goodnight said, shaking his head at the radio.

 

_“Hey I tried you guys first, my fault you’re always between islands?”_

“You raise a valid point.”

_“Well think about it,”_ Sam said. _“Because I could use a conman and a cat-burglar if you two happen to know any.”_

Goodnight and Billy looked at each with soft smiles, and Goodnight reached up to stroke Billy’s jaw.

 

“We’ll think about it,” Goodnight promised. “Call you back soon, Sam, alright?”

 

_“Alright. Later, guys.”_

Goodnight switched off the radio and put the headphones back onto the stuffed shark. He looked up at Billy still sitting in his lap and looking at Goodnight contentedly.

 

Goodnight smiled adjusted Billy in his arms, tilting his head up. When Billy kissed him his lips tasted like rum and mint and sugar.

 

“Sugarlips indeed,” Goodnight murmured and they laughed, Billy getting to his feet and pulling Goodnight up. They grabbed their drinks and headed back down the staircase, Billy waiting for Goodnight at the bottom so they could stroll across the deck together, arms around each other’s waists.

 

“Well?” Goodnight prompted as they walked to the edge of the deck to look at the waves. “What do you think?”

 

“You want to, I can tell,” Billy said, sounding amused.

 

“Yeah but I’m asking if you want to,” Goodnight said giving Billy’s waist a squeeze. “Because I’m not about to suggest changing anything if you’re still happy with how things are out here.”

 

Billy turned to look at him, the breeze sending some strands of hair floating around his face which was full of emotion.

 

“Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it, Goody,” he said quietly.

 

Goodnight smiled at him with a heart so full of devotion for this man that he couldn’t ever imagine a day not doing everything he could to put that look on his face.

“But remember the day before the heist?” Billy asked suddenly, playing with the cloth of Goodnight’s loose shirt.

 

“You mean when we spent the whole day prepping in bed?” Goodnight asked with a laugh. Their day of lounging on gold sheets, alternating between reviewing blueprints, dozing in each other’s arms, running lines, and kissing, was one of his fondest memories by far.

 

And Billy clearly felt the same way, judging by the grin that had blossomed on his handsome face.

 

“That was pretty fun too,” Billy said with an affectedly casual shrug, eyes twinkling. “Like I said…I do like working with you.”

 

“I like working with you too,” Goodnight said with a smile.

 

They leaned into each other and looked out at the water, and Goodnight turned his head, Billy’s hair tickling his lips.

 

“So?” he murmured there. “You ready to work together again?”

 

Billy trailed a hand down Goody’s side, resting it on his hip. He gave it a squeeze and then nodded.

 

“Yes.”

 

Goodnight felt a well of happiness and excitement bubbling it up, and he kissed Billy’s temple best he could at this angle.

 

“You’ll love Venice, mon cher,” he said already imagining them walking through the square. “The real one. The food is unbelievable. And Sam and I have both worked in Italy before so we know how it works and can make sure everything goes smoothly, so there’s really nothing to worry about, and –”

 

“Goody, it’s fine,” Billy said with a laugh in his voice. “I trust you.”

 

Goodnight lifted his head and stared at Billy who was smiling warmly at him, not a hint of unease in his face at all.

 

“Is that a fact?” Goodnight asked in a quieter voice than he’d been intending. He knew Billy wouldn’t still be gallivanting around the pacific with him if he didn’t trust him, but…just hearing the words so freely from someone who didn’t give them easily, and who had every reason not to give them at all…

 

Billy put their glasses down and turned Goodnight towards him so he could cup his face with his hands, nodding seriously but softly.

 

“Yes. Always.”

 

Goodnight let out a breath and leaned forward and Billy met him halfway to kiss him openly, without any hesitation or guardedness, letting him into the place he let so few others, and Goodnight felt wrapped up in it as he kissed him back, losing himself in that feeling between them where everything was safe for them both.

 

Goodnight ran a hand through Billy’s damp, salty hair, and Billy hummed against his lips.

 

“I’ll have to cut my hair,” he mused thoughtfully.

 

Goodnight shrugged, winding a lock of it around his fingers.

 

“Keep it. It suits you.”

 

Billy looked satisfied at the confirmation, and he stole another kiss from Goodnight who wrapped his arms around his neck.

 

“Rocks and Robicheaux, back in the game,” Goodnight said with a rush of giddy anticipation. “Guess I’d better call Sam back.”

 

Billy lifted an eyebrow.

 

“I think that can wait an hour, don’t you?” he asked, slipping a hand into the collar of Goodnight’s open shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, smile playing at his lips the whole while.

 

“You know, now that you mention it, I think it could even wait two,” Goodnight said, doing his best to keep a straight face.

 

Billy laughed. “Feeling ambitious?”

 

Goodnight shook his head smiling. “Just lucky.”

 

“Yeah,” Billy said smiling as he pulled Goodnight closer. “Me too.”

 

Their lips met in a slow, smiling kiss, and Goodnight felt a hot rush of gratitude streak through his chest, because so much of their lives had been a matter of luck. Some of it good, some of it bad, it just depended how you played your cards.

 

But there in each other’s arms, standing on the edge of the deck, swaying with the gentle waves, sunspots sparkling across the water, they were hit with the certainty that no matter what else happened, no matter where the chips fell, as long as they could keep each other they’d well and truly hit the best jackpot of all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**The End.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Thanks SO much for reading what has easily been one of the more challenging fics I've ever done. I've *always* wanted to do a heist story of some kind, so please let me know what you think of how it turned out! I really hope you guys enjoyed the ride and thanks again:)


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